Empty

Aside from a few small boxes, my apartment is empty.  Empty of furniture.  Empty of decor.  Empty of clothes.  Empty of towels.  Even empty of a shower curtain.

So empty.

I think back to a year ago when I moved into this apartment...  I was excited.  Happy.  It was my first solo apartment.  Mine ... at least it was for the first seven months.  And then I made a fateful phone call that led to the deterioration of so much -- my happiness, my solitude, my privacy, my freedom, my haven.

And now?  I've been put in a position where the only thing I can do is leave.  Pack up and run for the hills.

So here I am.  In my empty apartment, prepared to spend my last night on the floor on a blanket.  Tomorrow?  Last minute cleaning between work/class/work, then final walk through at 4pm, and the key hand over.  Where I'll metaphorically ride off into the sunset and not look back.

I'll miss this apartment.  I'll miss the convenience, the awkward layout, the amazing kitchen, the happy memories.  I won't miss the irritation and frustration my house-schleper caused me.

I'm so conflicted about this move.

So I'll sign off and head to bed, because it's an early morning for me!  Work at 6am, Class at 8-4, Walk through at 4, Work at 5.  And then it's off to bed in my new home.  :)

Goodnight, for the last time, 113.  Goodnight.

First day I was here!

And now I bid it adieu.