I wrote this the day that our apartment got picked up and packed away (i.e. last Tuesday). As an update. We are in Tassie! Our stuff, however, is not. We're starting week two without a fridge or a bed – the reason it's taken me so long to post it is we've only just gotten internet. Isn't moving fun?
Our apartment is empty. Our only belongings that are left in it are two suitcases, a basket full of odds and ends, and a box of kitchen things to use in the days (7-14!) that our stuff will be in transit.
I have an odd relationship to the stuff – the kitchen stuff, I certainly would be sad if it was broken or lost (the food processor is my pride and joy). But it is the apartment that I feel like it is harder to say goodbye – to be fair, I’ll be reunited with the stuff, I’ll probably never set foot in this apartment again.
It’s not like we’ve had the BEST of times in this apartment either. It started off with an epic sleep walking event by Inspector Climate which turned into us finding a decomposing mouse carcass gently cooking under our hot water heater.
Who can forget us trying to bail out our front load washer with a heart shaped bucket as it flooded our kitchen or after just a few months of marriage the inordinate amount of time I spent in the bathroom for ‘bowel prep’ before surgery. Oh memories.
But, at the same time, this is the first place where we first lived together, got married, it’s where it went from ‘my things’ to ‘our things’.
This shoebox-sized apartment is the longest I’ve ever lived in a place besides the home I grew up in – we moved in together in 2011.
And while I was hoping that saying goodbye to this apartment would mean saying hello to our ‘forever home’ – adventures never go as planned do they?
So goodbye, apartment.