I have been achingly slowly (or so it seems) cleaning and packing my apartment to move. Tomorrow I will remove the last pieces and return the keys. Moving makes me extremely melancholy. This one perhaps more so since the life I have lived in this space has not been shared daily. It was just my apartment.
So I sit on the floor, watching Wedding Singer on DVD, wondering how I am going to get all the last odds and ends into my rental Ford Focus, considering whether the hassel of the small pieces left are really worth the price and trouble that they present (can I throw away the syrup just because I am annoyed by trying to fit everything in?). Two giant bulging IKEA bag represent the laundry I need to do. A two fragile lamps, potted herbs, a tv and salvaged tv stand, a suitcase full of mostly organized and clean clothes, a vacuum cleaner. An entire dish set and silverware. As I write I realize how much stuff there still is to go. Including my bike, which won't fit well with any of the other things. Time to go to sleep, I guess. How did I collect this much stuff in one year?
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