Moving on.

This 82 degree weather is a little too appropriate for the last few days of living in this apartment. When we moved in, my mom described it as hot with “buzzard choking humidity.” You know it’s bad when buzzards are mentioned. I’m still not totally sure what those are. Oh, it’s a bird. Thanks, Google.

I’m not known for having a neatly organized space, but as I take apart the furniture and lamps and start packing boxes, all chaos has broken loose. Around 8:00 last night, there was much clanking of metal poles as I took apart my clothes rolling rack that was functioning as a closet, so the chaos has a noise dimension, too. If you multiply this picture by about 12, you’ll have the status of our apartment right now. Such is the nature of moving. (don’t multiply the toes in the bottom left by 12 though, just the mess)


It’s interesting to inhabit a temporary space, to make something your own that has actually belonged to hundreds of other people. Maybe they even decorated better. Or named it something better than AL’s Pancake World (but I highly doubt it because Gilmore Girls references typically win). And more people will live here after you if the crack in the ceiling doesn’t bring the place down. We’re just here for a short time, receiving shelter from the elements and sometimes from responsibilities, sleeping in metal-framed beds with vinyl mattresses.

I’d like to know how many pancakes were eaten here, how many slices of pizza… (have I mentioned how much I LOVE pizza?!? Even if we only ate one pizza per week we were here, that’s still 256 pieces.) How many to-do lists were written in a moment of overwhelming stress? If I write it down, I can do it. How many times did the shower turn on us, switching to either a glacial or volcanic temperature? How many times did we smell smoke of the inhaled varieties wafting up from certain neighbors’ windows?

Then the real question: how many times did we walk up and down the three flights of treacherous stairs?

I guess the answer to all those questions is: enough. We did it all enough. We ate enough pizza (debatable). We made and completed enough to-do lists. And now it’s time to move on.

Saturday morning will see me and my parents rolling back on to Minnesota after we fit every last thing into the car with leg room to spare (cross your fingers, will you?). Moving right along to whatever’s next, both the things I’ve planned and the surprises God has in store.

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