Despite having told myself I would stay in the same apartment through graduation, I found myself unable to deal with the extreme level of nonchalance my landlords gave to my well-being, as well as the frequent police visits to the buildings in my area. I decided another move was needed.
This year was my first year living completely by myself, and I loved it. I think, in fact, I loved it for all the wrong reasons. I loved it because no one cared if I was a slob. I loved it because I didn't have to answer to anyone for anything. I could let laundry, dishes, everything slide because no one else lived there. However, this also meant that I almost never had company, and spent much of my time here in solitude - not necessarily a bad thing.
Now that I've spent some time being by myself, I think I'm ready to take that next step. I am determined to be much more ruthless about the things I clear out of my life on this move in the hopes that I can condense my life to a small one-bedroom apartment that still has room for me to walk. I figure this will only make moving to wherever I end up after graduation easier. It also means that I can have company without being embarrassed about the state of my life.
But as the time draws near, I find myself alternating between states of elation and panic. When I go to my empty new apartment, I am filled with peace and hope. Then I think about the second bedroom in my current apartment that is entirely filled with the things that wouldn't fit anywhere else, and I panic. This will certainly be a process.
And yet, even as I panic, I know that staying here would have made my last year of graduate school miserable. The last thing I want to connect to my final year of this amazing experience is a miserable home life. It is time for me to organize my life. For me, this time.
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