I think it's finally setting in...
In just three (3) very short days we have to be out of our apartment. In a last-ditch effort to depart from our remaining worldly possessions before we finish the semester and leave for the summer, yesterday we had one last 'indoor garage sale', and the prices couldn't be beat: anything you want, absolutely free of charge. Just come pick it up.
It went very well, and now two of our three main rooms are completely empty, right down to the bare carpet. The only things that remain are our backpacks and the handful of things we'll need on a daily basis for the next two days, and the school supplies needed to finish our homework this semester.
Our apartment now looks very similar to what it did when we first moved in here - a couple blankets and two small pillows piled in a small twisted wad near the center of the floor, a computer in the corner with internet cables running bare along the floor until they stick in the exposed wall. After a year of being here, we're right back where we started.
Our first night here was 18 April 2008. We were so happy to have secured a place to build a life together that we couldn't wait until the furniture or the bed arrived. We had to sleep in "our new apartment" the very first night. Our plans for the evening were set. We would have a floor picnic and a living room camp out. Everything was perfect. There was no real furniture to speak of, but we couldn't let that deter us from enjoying our patio the very first night. With our two folding chairs and a bottle of cheap champagne in hand, we sat out on our patio and ate strawberries, sipped champagne from two coffee mugs (the only glasses we had) and watched the sunset over the Walgreens on the corner of 75th and Shadeland. Everything was perfect. It was exactly fitting for us and our strange little way of finding the beauty in the world, of finding peace and perfection in the most unlikely times, places and scenarios...
That was one year ago. It doesn't feel like home anymore. Everything that really made these stark and empty walls 'home' is no longer here, in much the same way that it didn't feel like 'home' when we first got here... small amounts of stuff scattered along the perimeter of the room. Nothing to really make it 'ours'. Just a couple signatures on a lease. In a couple days that will expire too, and everything that proves we just spent our first year living together will be gone. We're casting off now for different shores and new sights and sounds, hopefully some new friends and some otherwise unattainable adventure.
Our last night here will bring this past year--the happiest year of my life--to a close. And it will end as strangely as it began: two strangers who became best friends, sitting together on their patio sipping champagne from coffee mugs and watching together as the sun sets over Walgreens... over the end of the beginning of our perfect life together.
In just three (3) very short days we have to be out of our apartment. In a last-ditch effort to depart from our remaining worldly possessions before we finish the semester and leave for the summer, yesterday we had one last 'indoor garage sale', and the prices couldn't be beat: anything you want, absolutely free of charge. Just come pick it up.
It went very well, and now two of our three main rooms are completely empty, right down to the bare carpet. The only things that remain are our backpacks and the handful of things we'll need on a daily basis for the next two days, and the school supplies needed to finish our homework this semester.
Our apartment now looks very similar to what it did when we first moved in here - a couple blankets and two small pillows piled in a small twisted wad near the center of the floor, a computer in the corner with internet cables running bare along the floor until they stick in the exposed wall. After a year of being here, we're right back where we started.
Our first night here was 18 April 2008. We were so happy to have secured a place to build a life together that we couldn't wait until the furniture or the bed arrived. We had to sleep in "our new apartment" the very first night. Our plans for the evening were set. We would have a floor picnic and a living room camp out. Everything was perfect. There was no real furniture to speak of, but we couldn't let that deter us from enjoying our patio the very first night. With our two folding chairs and a bottle of cheap champagne in hand, we sat out on our patio and ate strawberries, sipped champagne from two coffee mugs (the only glasses we had) and watched the sunset over the Walgreens on the corner of 75th and Shadeland. Everything was perfect. It was exactly fitting for us and our strange little way of finding the beauty in the world, of finding peace and perfection in the most unlikely times, places and scenarios...
That was one year ago. It doesn't feel like home anymore. Everything that really made these stark and empty walls 'home' is no longer here, in much the same way that it didn't feel like 'home' when we first got here... small amounts of stuff scattered along the perimeter of the room. Nothing to really make it 'ours'. Just a couple signatures on a lease. In a couple days that will expire too, and everything that proves we just spent our first year living together will be gone. We're casting off now for different shores and new sights and sounds, hopefully some new friends and some otherwise unattainable adventure.
Our last night here will bring this past year--the happiest year of my life--to a close. And it will end as strangely as it began: two strangers who became best friends, sitting together on their patio sipping champagne from coffee mugs and watching together as the sun sets over Walgreens... over the end of the beginning of our perfect life together.
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