I can’t believe people are moving out already.
I’ve got four check-outs today and fourteen hours’ worth the rest of this weekend. Moving almost a thousand people out and checking 230 different apartments to make sure they’re identically arranged and spotless is time-consuming and a lot of work!
It’s a little overwhelming to think that the desk I’m sitting at right now isn’t going to be mine come next week. After Monday night I’m never again going to sleep in my bed, cook on my stove, sit on my couch. No, they’ll easily become someone else’s.
We’re so easily movable. We can throw all of our possessions in boxes and have the contents of our lives in a car, driving away to never come back. My life right now is so real, as is everything around it. My fridge, my shower, my room. But soon it won’t be mine anymore.
A couple times this year I’ve gone past the apartment I lived in last year. Walking between my old door and the one next to it just brings back so many memories. So much took place in those tiny rooms. I fell in love there. I’d think of the breakfasts and dinners my friends and I made each other, the Brawl matches, the nights where Davis and I sat on the kitchen floor for hours spilling our souls. That was my apartment, my home, my life.
But now they’re just rooms, inhabited by other people with other lives and other stories.
I’ve been tempted to ring their doorbells and talk to them. I wonder if their lives are anything like mine was last year. Do they hang out with their neighbors? Do they like to cook? What are their majors? What do they do for fun? And then I remind myself that that would be kind of creepy, that they probably wouldn’t care that my life changed behind those very doors.
I should probably start packing too. I just got some more Lady GaGa, which will take Katy Perry’s job of motivating me to clean and pack my life away. As a heads-up the next few posts might just be ramblings and musings of moving out and moving on… the next few days will be exciting and interesting.