Frankie and I are getting ready to move. Moving is always a really strange feeling. The uncertainty of it. The odd, liminal feeling of being between places. Of having one foot in a solid, real-feeling space and the other in a dream. The whole process fills me with anxiety.
What if there isn’t enough water pressure? What if the utilities cost a fortune? What if the neighbors are homophobic?
There is an element of throwing oneself into the unknown. Of leaping and hoping to be caught.
It’s also exciting. You start to plan out what your life will look like. To fantasize about where you will put your things. About walking home. About the things that you fell in love with about your new space. I get lost in daydreams about no longer dealing with the things that frustrate me about my current apartment. It’s such a good feeling, knowing you will be free.
The whole process is exhausting in the extreme. Boxing up your life and preparing to take it to a new place is stressful and time-consuming. There are so many things I am going to want to do in the next month that I’m not going to be able to.
All this is to say that I’m super excited about the move and all the possibilities and opportunities that it opens up, but I am also going to be totally wiped over the next month or so and ask you all to bear with me.