Moving is eminent. In 24 hours, we will be carrying our belongings down three flights of stairs and awaiting our movers. Still feeling no big deal about it, but last night I got hungry and started having some thoughts.
My first thought: “Man, we are moving in a day and have no food in the house. What am I going to eat for dinner?”
My second thought: “Man! We are moving in a day! And that means this is our last chance to get our favorite Thai/Vietnamese take-out!”
An hour later, I was walking down the street with my Spicy Basil Fried Rice with Duck Tofu and Khmer rolls, headed home to eat and pack.
But then I passed by my favorite burger joint and started having more thoughts:
“Wait a second… when am I going to have my one last Grass Fed burger?”
“Are there even any days left??”
“How in the world am I going to do a Whole30 ever again without Grass Fed burgers???”
“Why am I moving????”
“WHY IS LIFE WORTH LIVING?????”
Boston is a city of neighborhoods, and I’d forgotten just how much I loved mine. We moved to JP four years ago and never wanted to live anywhere else. We are close to public transit. We are close to bars and restaurants. We are close to a big, beautiful park with running paths. JP is full of kids and dogs and hipsters on bikes. It’s a beautiful place to live. This is a very reluctant goodbye.
However, I am finding that saying goodbye to my apartment is so, so very easy. And therein lies the rub: we can’t afford a nice place in JP. Or, more accurately, we are unwilling to sacrifice our budgetary priorities in order to pay for a nice place in JP. We’ve been living in a spacious but overpriced shit-hole for a year.
Goodbye, crooked kitchen floors that slams my refrigerator door shut with unnecessary force.
Goodbye, grungy carpet that fills up our vacuum with filth Every. Single. Time. We. Vacuum.
Goodbye, shower that is too short for tall folks and sprays water all over the floor and onto the walls of bathroom to disgusting, mildewy results.
Goodbye, periodic mice infestation that APPARENTLY WAS CAUSED BY A RODENT COLONIZATION IN OUR DOWNSTAIRS NEIGHBOR’S OVEN.
Goodbye, people who live in the house right behind ours who have recently bought a table specifically designed to play dominos on and parked it at the end of the driveway (right below my bedroom window) and now play exclusively between the hours of 11 p.m. and 4 a.m.
Goodbye, dozens of extension cords snaking all over every room in order to plug in those extraneous electronic accessories like “lamps.”
Goodbye, pushing our laundry to the laundromat in a metal cart.
Goodbye, landlord/slumlord who neglected to take care of a 100 year old, completely dead tree on his property and instead waited for it to FALL INTO THE STREET and ON TOP OF ONE OF HIS TENANTS’ CARS.
Goodbye, gang wars and gun shots and living somewhere where your friends are a little freaked to come over because they are worried that their new Vespa might get stolen off the street. Because last time they came over, their new Vespa got STOLEN OFF THE STREET.
Goodbye, you crazy JP apartment. You will remain in horrible, hilarious memory for the rest of our lives. We are onto greener pastures. Greener pastures with a dishwasher.