The End/Beginning
It's official. I am now out of my old apartment. I left my keys behind, inside a spotless, lemony fresh kitchen.
And let me say, the Comet-Windex-Pledge-409-PineSol-orange degreaser stuff cocktail did NOT agree with my head. I came away marinated in cleaning agents, a malady which is only cured by a long, hot bath. I hope -- otherwise who knows what that orange degreaser stuff will have done to my arms. The label said that you aren't supposed to leave it sitting on stainless steel for more than a minute. Who knows what it can do to human flesh.
Okay, sorry. That was gross. Moving on!
Despite the fact that I am often a nostalgic person, I felt absolutely nothing but that anxious "get-me-out-of-here" rush until my final inspection. Then and only then did I get a twinge of, "Hey, this was my first place of my own. And now I'm leaving."
It lasted about as long as it took for me to check the master bedroom.
Now my dining room has been invaded by boxes of random crap that I need to sort through and store ... but that's okay. It's okay because I'm pretty certain I'll get it done quickly because I want that dining room to be clean and ready for a crowd at the first hint of a "Hey, we should have a dinner night" email. Much like I want my living room to be ready for a random movie night, and my own bedroom to be my safe haven (it's made to be a haven ... wow, it's gorgeous).
This is a different place. It's not a cookie-cutter unit on the edge of town, far removed from all of my friends. Instead, it's a gorgeous old house that is meant to be seen and used and enjoyed ... And I fully intend to do just that.
Tomorrow. After I get some sleep and rest my exhausted, chemical soaked arms.
Have a good night, folks!
And let me say, the Comet-Windex-Pledge-409-PineSol-orange degreaser stuff cocktail did NOT agree with my head. I came away marinated in cleaning agents, a malady which is only cured by a long, hot bath. I hope -- otherwise who knows what that orange degreaser stuff will have done to my arms. The label said that you aren't supposed to leave it sitting on stainless steel for more than a minute. Who knows what it can do to human flesh.
Okay, sorry. That was gross. Moving on!
Despite the fact that I am often a nostalgic person, I felt absolutely nothing but that anxious "get-me-out-of-here" rush until my final inspection. Then and only then did I get a twinge of, "Hey, this was my first place of my own. And now I'm leaving."
It lasted about as long as it took for me to check the master bedroom.
Now my dining room has been invaded by boxes of random crap that I need to sort through and store ... but that's okay. It's okay because I'm pretty certain I'll get it done quickly because I want that dining room to be clean and ready for a crowd at the first hint of a "Hey, we should have a dinner night" email. Much like I want my living room to be ready for a random movie night, and my own bedroom to be my safe haven (it's made to be a haven ... wow, it's gorgeous).
This is a different place. It's not a cookie-cutter unit on the edge of town, far removed from all of my friends. Instead, it's a gorgeous old house that is meant to be seen and used and enjoyed ... And I fully intend to do just that.
Tomorrow. After I get some sleep and rest my exhausted, chemical soaked arms.
Have a good night, folks!
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