I’m aware that I’ve been dangling the “We got a new place!” card for a couple of weeks now. While I’m not ready to show the house in its settled-in state (On the list: a full set of bathroom towels and a coffee table.), here’s what I left. Just to give you an idea of what a change the new house has been, my mom, after the tour of our new house, found it in her to say “Your old place was…oppressive.”

Office space.

Kitchen clutter.

Living room.

I’ve given away or sold a good deal of the furniture in these pics. I’m pretty proud that Billiam and I didn’t have to buy much more in terms of big ticket items.

Hah, that light says "GET A JOB."

Skinny but lovely walk-in closet.

Bedroom!

I always glamorized the image of the struggling successful person, but even so I never pictured myself living in a ghetto. When I was in college I was totally hypnotized by the idea of living in a loft space or some place really urban. I wanted to walk outside and just fall open retail stores and cafes and sidewalks bustling with people. To be honest, that dream changed when I worked in an urban space and got into a relationship. I wanted the opposite at home, I wanted something more calm and clean and quiet.

At least now if anybody gives me beef I can be like, “Fool, I lived amidst gunshots for two years of my life. Get offah my lawn!”

I was brought up in a lot of privilege. I just had to pay my dues.

*

You know those cinematic and sitcom moments when the poor, unsuspecting schmuck of the movie comes home to a completely deserted, empty house? It’s so stark that of course your first reaction is “Oh my goodness, I hope that never happens to me. What would I do if that happened to me?”

On the ride home from my fourth trip out to find a set of high-quality bath towels (Fourth time’s a charm!), I was chewing over how impossible that endeavor must be. Granted I’ve never been the leavee or the leaver, but if I was the leaver, I’d simply have too much shit to get out of the house. How would you do it? Do you wrap up all your fine china in the time your ex-lover takes to get to work? Do you hire sixteen able-bodied men to haul your big furniture items into a huge truck? Is it actually a family-run business, this outfit of movers? Do the women dust and clean everything before it gets packed away? Is it up to the children to stuff vases, toothbrushes, and area rugs into every nook and cranny in the truck?

I don’t know how one person could execute all of that. But maybe they’re one person with very little stuff, or one person with lots of stuff who can afford to have other persons come by to do the gruntwork.

It took me a couple of weeks to fit my one bedroom apartment into just a handful of car trips.

Here’s to being totally oblivious to the inner thoughts and motivations of the leaver.