The moving men scurried through, picking up my life in boxes, and I only let the flood of tears come after they left. I stood standing in my kitchen, getting a last look at the dining room table where I served a great risotto three weeks earlier. It is then when I crumbled. My last look at my apartment was blurry from tears. And I shut the door behind me.
For the next few hours, I had anywhere between two and seven people in my new apartment. One was painting, one was watching Elmo, another was vacuuming, another scouring…it was an eventful day. It’s hard to fit seven people in a studio, but more difficult to now be here alone.
Thank God for the wi-fi I’m stealing from one of my new neighbors.
I know this is the part in the movie, where the Taylor Swift song comes on and the heroine surveys her new apartment, anticipating what the future may hold for her. The only thing remotely true about that scenario is that I’m listening to Taylor Swift, a 16 year old kid who doesn’t have a clue what it’s like to have her heart broken, but is telling me how difficult it is. Taylor, we should get a cup of coffee some time – I could teach you a thing or two.
I’m about to go take my first shower in a contraption that looks like one of those chyrogenic sleeper beds in Avatar. It’s possible that I may be transported to Pandora in a matter of minutes. but I’m not that lucky.
In the last three weeks, my life has been control-alt-deleted…I know it is time to contemplate where the next steps will take me, but it’s not something I can take on right now. So instead…I’m going to get up everyday…breathe in and out…and keep that up until I can do it without thinking about it.