Turning times

Tomorrow, Doobie, Ilajna and Bobbis move into a new apartment.

Of course I'm happy for them; they're upgrading to a far nicer apartment, complete with balcony, doorman and a smattering of posh. Although I have to admit I don't envy them having to move. Who likes moving? It's a pain in the hiney. On the other hand infinitely better, of course, since gawd invented movers.

Although of course I'm happy for them, their moving brings me a not-so-slight pang of nostalgia. After all, it was the apartment I lived in too, for a couple years. When we were all roommates. Even after I moved out, there was always the 'room that used to be mine'. Now their new apartment will be all their's, with nothing to connect me to it. Nothing to make me feel like it was a little bit mine too. I'll even have to ask the way to the bathroom the first time I visit.

Typical me, for personalising their move. Yes, it's all about me.

So woe be me, that the old apartment, my old home, will just become another address I write in my list of historical addresses. I see you blinking in disbelief that I keep a list of historical addresses. Yes. Ridiculous isn't it? I thought so too, I couldn't believe my own stupidity. And then the other day I completed my application for US citizenship, and they asked me to list all addresses going back fifteen years. Yes, fifteen years. Which is NOT easy, mind you, if you go back through your twenties and teens. And then, all of a sudden, I was immensely proud of my insightful forethought and meticulous keeping of ridiculous lists.

That was just luck though, that the address list came in handy. On balance, I'd still say that my stupidity outweighs my insight and forethought. But then again, balance is an overrated concept (unless you're a tightrope walker, in which case it's a rather fundamental basis of your existence).

Anyways, back to the apartment. Goodbye, ol' apartment. Thank you for all the memories. You've been such an integral part of my life in New York. So goodbye, and fare thee well.