This week my mind has been overrun with thoughts of moving. Our apartment seems to be falling apart. Charlie hypothesized that it will disintegrate once we leave. I like to think it mourns our departure as much as we do. The bathroom has a moldy smell, the pond of water on our roof seems to grow every morning, there was a (recently conquered) fruit fly problem, one of the cabinet drawers can't open, and the shelf inside our freezer door flew off.
It makes the prospect of moving easier. The apartment feels like it is in a consistent state of filth that no amount of cleaning removes. It looks wrong getting emptier. I sat on Alienor's balcony yesterday looking in on her room with nothing but the bare mattress lurking in the corner.
That mattress, covered in stains from tenants past, got slept on bare if you can believe it. (By a subletter, not Aliénor). I tried to take a photo. but the splotches didn't show up with enough of an impact. To paint the picture, Charlie told me when she moved in, her mom said she couldn't in good conscience let her sleep on a mattress in such a state.
I wondered, while I looked across the room, where the people who had added to the yellowing fabric ended up. Unfortunately, we have to leave the stains behind before we have these answers. Maybe the next tenants will think it was us, lounging on the bed in the particularly bad spots in hopes of sitting somewhere we once lingered.
I also wondered what their mugs and dishes will look like. I am pretty judgy when it comes to dishes; they have been on the mind ever since Charlie asked Jaimie, Alienor, and I the ones we liked most and least. I honestly don't know how so many people get it wrong. I thought a good mug was a pretty objective thing. I learned this was not the case when I found out the ones Jaimie and Alienor preferred. I guess that's a lesson to learn; I grew up in a house where we all have similar taste. Doesn't mean the same for everyone.
Despite some roommate disagreements, I have high hopes that my summer of yard-saleing will lead to some great new additions to our dish collection. Hopefully, it will also lead to new additions in my furniture collection, as I have nothing so far. There is no doubt in my mind that there will be some good finds this year. I can feel it. More than feeling it, I need it, as I have spent all year hyping up Long Island estate sales to Charlie and Eliza. They are visiting mid July, so the stakes are quite high.
I think moving overall is good for me. It has forced some tough conversations. Hiding in the dark corner under my desk, I had a cardboard box full of old wrapping paper and magazine clipping that I told myself I would use someday in a craft.
When talking about someone she knows who hoards paper for future crafts, Eliza said there was no way any of it will ever get used. I thought about this a bit. Never once have I rifled through that box. It feels wasteful to throw these papers out, as it's true that I could technically find a use for it. I think it is time to grow up and reckon with the fact that even though I could, I won't. So, I threw it all out.
I have decided to hold myself to a new system, only keeping loose papers that are cut cleanly and lay flat. No wrapping paper, either. I feel free without this burden, so I hope it sticks.
Moving doesn't come without its worries, though. I have been telling everyone who will listen about my deep fears surrounding my chevron fabric. It's sheer and probably 10x4 feet, and I currently have it hanging as a curtain to my closet. Here's where the trouble begins... next year, my closet has a door. Where am I going to put my chevron curtain?
I don't like having curtains over my window, and I think my room next year doesn't get the best light, so I want to squeeze out every UV ray I can. What am I going to do?
I have a similar issue with my gold tablecloth. (Yard sale find of summer 23). Initially, I tried to put it on my bed but there was leftover wax from the old owners and it shed everywhere. I then put it on my desk, but I might not have a desk next year... It's all too much.
Lots of things are coming to a close. I am finally caught up on my album a day adventure, and I have my last shift at work on Thursday (Last for the summer, trust I will be back in Bronfman come fall).
I am really excited. We are doing inventory and there is literally nothing I love more than inventory. When I worked at the Angelika we would have to do inventory every shift and it was one of my favorite tasks. (I will say, not sure why it was that serious. Maybe before I arrived there were staff members stealing corn kernels one by one).
Thinking back on it, inventory has been my favorite task at many jobs. My first experience was at Catbird and I spent many hours counting hundreds of tiny earrings and bracelets. I think that's where my love for spreadsheets started. At Rachel Comey too, I would look forward to when I could work in the warehouse because that would mean I could spend my day walking around with my clipboard, on top of the world.
I am not sure if I have discussed it on here, but I have a grand plan for my retirement of cataloguing all of my belongings. A couple of months ago, I thought I would start it when moving. This way, I could add things to my spreadsheet while packing. Talk about a good system??? Unfortunately, after I started taking things down from my walls, I got so wrapped up in the swing of things that I filled and taped shut a number of boxes. Guess it is a project for retirement, after all. Sorry to let all of you down.
I'm not too upset about it, as I was talking to Charlie in the kitchen today about my notebooks filled with a sentence description of how I have spent single every day since eighth grade. I told her about my plans to make a website with this info if I have Booth from Girls related mid-30s crisis, and she told me I should make one of those subscription texts that feeds out one day each morning to my mass of fans. I will do this once I am famous and then my fans can get the exclusive experience of walking in my shoes since the age of 13.
Projects galore!
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