I am currently awaiting my second apartment showing to occur (this will be the last one before I leave, I think). The first showing (a day ago) came and left fairly quickly, so I am hoping this one will be similar.
Upon re-entering my building, after a cigarette, I looked around. At the walls (not white, but not cream), at the mailboxes (more tinged, antique bronze than gold) and the carpet (levels above only the atrocious hallway carpeting of my Biddeford apartment). I wondered if I would miss it. I wondered if I had taken enough pictures and videos. Even then: if I had kept enough of them (I have a tendency to mass-delete in a kind of Spring Cleanup fashion every now and again).
Thanks to Instagram (said no one, or at least not earnestly), I have documented my past well enough, so far. Starting with my first adult move to North Conway, New Hampshire. Pictures of my different friends, cars, pets, hair/makeup/fashion, jobs and apartments. Posted to the internet and shared to the world. Surviving even the worst / earliest / hastiest phone switch-overs. And then there are those pictures that will never see the light of social media: the ones that are none too spicy and, in fact, quite dull. Dull and not enough of anything to anyone else, but still enough representative of something / everything of that certain time for me. Of that event, of that night, that friend, that conversation, that laughing fit, that feeling. If I'm being honest, lately I've been torn between keeping them neatly organized within the recesses of my gallery files and printing them all out for my first, proper photo album. The thing with data is that it can be corrupted / deleted when you least expect it. The thing about material stuff is that you now have one more "thing" to keep track of / to keep safe / to treasure / to clean around and store / to grab before you run out of the burning building. I guess I haven't made my decision yet. And by my own rules: if I haven't made my decision of yes or no, it must mean I don't want it badly enough.
I recall my mother's photo albums, painstakingly taken, developed, labeled, organized and kept. But without children, will there ever be a reason to have them? To liberate them from their shelf, blow the dust off and look through? I guess maybe not. Unless it's one of those older people things where, upon retiring, I will desperately wish I would have kept better log of my own life. I do try to, as previously blogged. As I am the only one who has stuck by my side enough to actually know anything about it. But maybe I'm just putting too much weight on the matter entirely. After all, I have yet to come across a picture of me where I go "Oh my God - that's right! I completely forgot about that!" (You think you have a shit memory until you really think about it.)
Plus, as much as I appreciate my past and all of the people in it: there is something to be said, I think, about letting go / not romanticizing / appreciating the present. Where is the line drawn? The line between keeping photos of current friends and loved ones hanging about your walls and stashing piles of water-damaged evidence holed away in your garage (should you be lucky enough to have one)? I guess I don't know. I guess it feels like one more of those things I just haven't grasped / just don't know how to do since I was born a bit too late.
I do love seeing pictures of my best friend and I, though :) Couldn't imagine getting rid of those. Perhaps that's where I'll start, at least: printing off a couple of pictures from my best friend trove. If I'm being perfectly honest, I think he's the closest family I've got.
Back to the time limit: 4 Days.
I'm working for the majority of those days, leaving only one weekend day free. I would like to use that day to empty out the apartment as much as possible, I think. Maybe going out for a sensible evening if the weather's nice. I've really always hated the idea of a Farewell Party for me. I'm always moving / always doing something. It's never really been special to me in that way. The biggest reason I hate them is because: anyone who has moved can tell you the perils of it. The running around and appointment making and heavy lifting and transporting and connecting / orchestrating and weird sleeping arrangements on half-deflated air mattresses / floor mattresses / friend's couches / strange motels... The last fucking thing I want is another appointment / place I have to physically be / time constraint etc.
To quote myself, talking with my mother: "I'm not grumpy or rude, I just know what I want."
Speaking of which: she has suggested that such farewell parties are not for the person going away, but for the ones staying. Which, incidentally, is exactly how she describes funerals. Let it be known: Once I'm dead, my dearest loved ones can invite me to any party they see fit. I give my word: I shall not protest. (Perhaps this would be the opportune time to finally take me out to those hiking / camping trips I keep telling you I'm not interested in.)
I have had my birthday and it was the best one yet. Filled with only a few people that I was truly hoping to spend time with, full of love and ease. Lazy and luxurious. That can be my Farewell Party.
What I am not opposed to is - once I'm re-settled back home - a kind of Welcome Back Party. And by Welcome Back Party, I mean: spending what time I can with the three people I've religiously kept in touch with throughout the three years of my absence. (I will be living with the fourth and will hopefully be able to spend time with him at some point before this.) It won't have to be all at once, it won't have to be in one specific place / at a specific time / with a specific dress code... I'm thinking:
Porch night and craft brew / CBD with one
Thai food and cackles with the second
Cigarettes and coffee with the third.
And I always want these. These 3 events are exactly the reasons I kept coming back to visit. Why I asked for time off every March (as well as whenever else I possibly could). Why I carefully timed actions and packed bags and drove eight hours to and fro. (One of the eight through Massachusetts, if you can imagine!)
The showing people have come and gone and now I am left with only the music playlist I started for background noise for them. (Why do I do this? Hosting must truly be in my blood. Even when - assuredly - no one cares.) "Nighttiming" by Coconut Records just came on - one of my favorites. As Jason Schwartzman sings on and shadow leaves dance and glimmer on my sills and surfaces, my mind wanders in peace. I picture the long drive back home. The feeling of welcomed finalization; that this will be the last drive of this nature. No more strange moves and solo missions. That I will have graduated from alley cat. That I will finally be home. For good.
4 Days.
