The thing is, I have no illusions about how incredibly lucky I am to live in the same city as my parents and to have the option to go and live with them for a little while as I get back on my feet financially. If I were halfway across the country (or the world, knowing me) I don't know what I would've done. Moved back to Memphis, probably.
And every time I start throwing myself a small pity party (just something tasteful, maybe tea and doilies, light snacks), my mom reminds me that it's only temporary. That it's not going to be long before I'm ready to start paying rent again and get back to midtown and, hopefully, Cooper Young.
Still, it ain't easy to leave this place. It's been my home for almost two years and for all its faults, I do love it. It's old and cranky and does weird shit from time to time, but it's also spacious and full of interesting nooks and crannies and has character in spades. It's a place you love in spite of itself, maybe just a little bit like its tenant. Sometimes.
My mom came over last weekend and we made a huge stack of boxes and crates in the kitchen, and though there's still quite a bit of furniture that needs to be moved and things to be packed, the whole place feels pretty empty and naked. And every time I walk through the kitchen, or even catch those stacks of boxes out of the corner of my eye, I have this almost Pavlovian response.
I get excited.
Because in that split second, before my brain can register again exactly what those boxes mean, my nomadic spirit is full to bursting, giddy with the thought of new adventures and new places and moving those boxes to some other neat, quirky apartment with its own nooks and crannies. It's like there's a small child just bouncing wildly in my head, asking, "Where we goin? Huh? Huh? HUH!?"
And then, inevitably, I remember.
This Sunday I'll move all the big stuff into mini storage (with the help of some big burly man friends) and then it'll just be a matter of days before I'm completely out. I know that as I close that door for the last time at the end of the month I'll be closing the door on a house that has seen a lot of very important pieces of my life. It's seen two productions of The Vagina Monologues, countless rehearsals and production meetings and a couple of cast parties. It's seen tacky sweater Christmas parties. It's soaked up the sounds of a lot of vinyl records. It's seen guitar lessons and appendicitis and a couple of break-ups and for a few weekends here and there, one unruly ball of puppy fur.
Onward and upward, right? But I'm gonna miss you, 1054 Cooper.
cheers,
elizabeth
Posts
