Wednesday, September 1, 2010

Don't Have To Live Like A Refugee

It seemed apropos that, despite all the help I've received along the way from Spangles and my friend Blondie, I did that last scrub-down and took the last screws from the walls on my own. I vacuumed streaks of clean into the dust and debris, I tossed out long-unidentifiable refrigerator gunk. I moved through the old apartment, room by room, removing all the last traces of myself. It was awesome. It was like erasing myself, erasing the taint of the past. Taking out the garbage, literally.

I love that you get to reinvent yourself. I love that you can change your life if you're not happy with it. I love that with some planning and elbow grease, you can get rid of your old snail shell and pick out a new one that suits you better. I love that you can die and be reborn.

Maybe that all sounds a tad melodramatic to ascribe to a grimy apartment, but that thing was an albatross for so long. Now I am someone with hardwood floors and three couches. I am a person who completed a triathlon. I am someone who attempted to better herself. Sure, I still eat too much pasta and haven't showered in the very recent past and have trouble tearing myself away from instant Netflix to be a productive member of society - I mean I'm still a human being.

But man it feels good to have only one apartment at a time. This one is now full of boxes of my crap again, but eventually, I will find a place for it all. There is a place for it. There is a place for us. L'chaim!

1 comment:

schoolmarmalade said...

i hear ya, girl. Like I said, you deserve this shiznoz. Also, my room imploded and I was helpless for like days, and then all of a sudden, *boom* I could deal with it without retching. Or more like, I couldn't deal with being in there anymore without retching. So, win-win, I guess. Now all I need is for the temperature to drop 10 or 20 degrees and I can totally, like, be alive again.