The ceiling literally fell in.
Black dust, pieces of plaster & the mess of everything lent itself to a certain kind of chaos. The kind of chaos where you’re calling your mother in tears, demanding your landlord for more information, and making friends with your insurance guy.
I’ll spare you all of the (literally) gritty details, but over the course of the next few days, I dusted, cleaned and packed up all of my belongings to be shipped off and cleaned.
And guys, it was liberating. To be free of the stuff.
I realized that none of it mattered. I was safe, I had a wonderful support system, and (luckily) had gotten renter’s insurance back in April. And I didn’t miss anything that had been sent away.
I also realized that I have carved out a home in this dingy, run down apartment. I started looking at Craigslist right away, telling myself that there was no way I’d be living in this mess with a crazy slumlord for one more day. But then, nothing seemed to look right. And I found myself missing the crumbly brick walls, the cramped kitchen, and the quirky plumbing. This is by no means a forever home – I know that the near future will probably involve another move, a new neighborhood, maybe even a new town. But this place will always be important in my timeline. It’s were I’m learning to live, alone and with others, a life that is uniquely me.
Also, I’m having a garage sale. To sell all the things. (seriously).