Beat the day.
Aug. 15th, 2012 11:15 pmIt's been just over a year since I moved into my apartment. August 11, as a matter of fact - a year and four days. I knew the one-year mark was coming for a while now, but I hadn't expected it to pass me by. I think that's a good thing, though.
August 15 was the day I was supposed to move out of the Y, if I hadn't jumped the gun and moved out four days early and then turned in all my paperwork and keys and ID the following morning. I've been back only once, to get a package that didn't get diverted to my new address because of some mix-up at the post office with the timing of change-in-address forms. And I'm trying not to look back, except on rare nights when I give myself permission.
I was talking about it to someone at work today, and I told her that if I could take a mulligan on any year of my life, it'd be that one. Thinking about it, I'm not entirely sure or not. Mostly because of the things I made, or the things I found - the stories I managed to write, the internship at the art gallery I managed to land, the new fandoms I picked up that have brought me so much joy it makes my heart hurt sometimes, and those wouldn't have happened if I hadn't been there. I wouldn't have started therapy if I hadn't been there.
There's no honest way for me to quantify it. If I could keep myself, and what I did, distinct and separate from everything else there - the communal shower block, the lack of privacy, the shitheads that shared the halls with me, the lack of any outside intervention when most needed - then I'd be much happier with that year than I am now.
But it's over. It's gone. And I'm still here. And I like to think that means I've won. At the very least, I'm not there anymore. I'm here, with my own shower, my own kitchen, my own little place. And I've signed my lease for another year - come the end of the month, this will be the place I've lived the longest since high school. For seven years, I moved each August, swapping dorm rooms or houses or shared abodes that never were mine in any meaningful sense. Now, this is my space, my own little place where I know I'll be for a good while yet. The comfort in that knowledge is relentless.
I'm glad to be here. And I'm so happy I can say finally that about where I live, just so happy.
August 15 was the day I was supposed to move out of the Y, if I hadn't jumped the gun and moved out four days early and then turned in all my paperwork and keys and ID the following morning. I've been back only once, to get a package that didn't get diverted to my new address because of some mix-up at the post office with the timing of change-in-address forms. And I'm trying not to look back, except on rare nights when I give myself permission.
I was talking about it to someone at work today, and I told her that if I could take a mulligan on any year of my life, it'd be that one. Thinking about it, I'm not entirely sure or not. Mostly because of the things I made, or the things I found - the stories I managed to write, the internship at the art gallery I managed to land, the new fandoms I picked up that have brought me so much joy it makes my heart hurt sometimes, and those wouldn't have happened if I hadn't been there. I wouldn't have started therapy if I hadn't been there.
There's no honest way for me to quantify it. If I could keep myself, and what I did, distinct and separate from everything else there - the communal shower block, the lack of privacy, the shitheads that shared the halls with me, the lack of any outside intervention when most needed - then I'd be much happier with that year than I am now.
But it's over. It's gone. And I'm still here. And I like to think that means I've won. At the very least, I'm not there anymore. I'm here, with my own shower, my own kitchen, my own little place. And I've signed my lease for another year - come the end of the month, this will be the place I've lived the longest since high school. For seven years, I moved each August, swapping dorm rooms or houses or shared abodes that never were mine in any meaningful sense. Now, this is my space, my own little place where I know I'll be for a good while yet. The comfort in that knowledge is relentless.
I'm glad to be here. And I'm so happy I can say finally that about where I live, just so happy.
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