Back In The City Again!

Moving is an emotional experience. I’ve done it pretty much every year since I moved out of my parent’s house at 18, and it never gets any easier. From going through all your old stuff and trying to weed out the crap (read: hoarded towels and books about Jesus), to the sheer enormity of individually wrapping each and every glass, plate, and dish in your kitchen–the entire process of moving takes it out of a girl. And THEN to try and enlist the help of friends and family to physically move all the stuff you just painstakingly wrapped and packed and threw in boxes…well, that is a challenge in itself.

This move, while still difficult, was emotional for another reason entirely: I was leaving my roommates behind. Don’t get me wrong, it was MY decision to move and was something that I desperately needed for my own sanity (and for the sake of my yet-to-be-determined new social life). The difficult part was knowing that while part of the move was to be closer to work, the main reason was because of a friendship that ended badly after almost 10 years. And when I say it ended “badly”, I mean BADLY…as in bridges burned, wreckage smouldering, ashes blowing in the wind. But I wasn’t about to endure another 7 months of walking around on eggshells or side-stepping rabbit poop (yes, you heard me right–don’t ask), so I took the initiative and left. Like a thief in the night.

Ok, not really–my former roommates had PLENTY of notice, and trust me when I say, I am not leaving them in the lurch financially. But I DID feel a bit like the Grinch who stole Christmas. Remember how he took EVERYTHING from the Whoo’s houses, leaving nothing but hooks and wire on the walls? Well, that was me…except I took the hooks too!  Sadly, the majority of what we were using in the house–as far as furniture, kitchen stuff, and general decor was concerned–was mine, after all. And it isn’t like I was going to leave behind my couch and television just because I was worried they wouldn’t have their own. Nevertheless, I felt guilty about “cleaning them out”. But only for about a minute.

That minute ended when, on my first night in Wallingford (my new ‘hood), I was driving down 45th towards the UW and I passed the following:

• A handful of what I can only assume were very stinky bums
• An arthouse movie theatre
• Dicks Drive-In
• One dude waiting for the bus wearing a hoop skirt–the kind that Scarlet O’Hara would have worn underneath her dress made out of drapes
• The Erotic Bakery (where one can special order penis cakes w/ extra jizz)
• And a handful of artsy crunchy dudes in hoodies and skinny jeans riding bikes too small for their bodies

In that moment, I let out a contented sigh of relief: “Back In The City Again!”