As much as I'm glad to leave the dirt and rampant mice behind, it's still hard to extract myself.
Now that most of my things are in boxes and bags, I'm left with the memories of not what I had in this apartment, but what happened over the last (nearly) seven years on and near East 26th Street.
- Going to Rodeo Bar alone, and meeting Nada Surf's lead singer, who asked me, "Do you want to go make out somewhere?" I happily complied. (See also: Nada Surf's "Inside of Love," featuring the lyrics "Making out with people / I hardly know or like / I can't believe what I do / late at night...")
- Playing Spooky Spinner, a Halloween-themed version of Twister, at Halloween parties in an apartment that should not have been able to hold so many people
- Dancing to Bowie's Young Americans and The Black Crowes with Phil
- Waving goodnight to Mexico Lindo's waitstaff and busboys, who always watched my comings and goings with a wave and a smile
- Living so close to Edith
- Walking home from everywhere - Brooklyn, Lower East Side, East Village, West Village, Union Square, Herald Square, Times Square, even the Upper West Side
- Taking cabs anywhere (especially if it's raining)
- Walking through Madison Square Park and past Gramercy Park
- Post-hike happy hours at Wild Edibles
I know there are new adventures to be had. A big part of me is glad to leave behind the reminders of the adventures I'll never have again.
I guess I just thought I would be in a different place now. I didn't think I would still be going through this alone. I didn't think I would still be single. I didn't think I would have to live on less than I had in my first apartment in Greenpoint.
I've already cut the clutter so much in my life, trimmed the fat, cleaned out the people who aren't really my friends. How much more can I spare before everything is just...gone?
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