I Really Loved My Apartment

I moved out of my last college apartment officially almost a week ago. This might explain my lack in writing, but really, I’ve just been attempting to put something together that doesn’t make me need to get a tissue mid-paragraph.

Here, while I compose myself, observe this picture of me and Christie dancing in our former apartment:

I could be overly emotional and ramble in this blog post. I could definitely talk for paragraphs in detail about how moving out was a metaphor for finally leaving college and how each piece of  furniture that left was a piece of the last 4 years finally leaving. I could joke about pawning all our leftover food and cleaning supplies on people even if they didn’t want it, post a link to “The Scientist” since Christie sang it nonstop the last few days we were living there, or tell you about how dramatic drinking the last cup of coffee on our final morning really ended up being.

However, I’m going to attempt instead to keep it simple, which is a new concept for me.

Moving is hard. It’s stressful and messy and at times you just want to throw everything away, but then you can’t throw ANYTHING away because you’re attached to it. We grow attached to stupid things like posters or plastic flowers or knickknacks on shelves because they represent little memories. I spent a good twenty minutes deciding which coffee cups to get rid of. I considered keeping a bottle of coconut lotion with 2 drops left in it. I had trouble fitting all my shoes into my car.

While all these moments could be the ones I remember or the ones that stand out, the one memory that will forever be representative will be the very last one. Christie and I had packed up nearly everything in boxes, cleared out all our stuff, removed all her paintings off the walls and we decided to take a little lunch break. We hopped in her car to go get sandwiches and she predicted I’d get the jalapeno chips, and of course, I did. We brought them back, and since everything was gone, we sat down on our wood floor and had a little ‘last supper’ together.  Our apartment had always been full of our friends and bustling with activity, but in those few minutes, it was just the two of us, roommates, and our last string of Christmas lights still plugged in. We didn’t talk about the sadness of leaving or our next plans, we just laughed about the streamers still on the ceiling from all the parties we’d thrown. We giggled about inside jokes and spoke in ridiculous accents. We talked about what we’d learned over the past year and sure enough, we talked about boys and flirting and relationships and marriage and all the places we saw ourselves in 5 years. When we finished, we sipped the last of our diet cokes and finished packing the last things we had left. Two hours and her parents’ truck later, we handed over our keys and were officially moved out.

If you asked me to be honest, of course I’m sad about moving out of San Marcos. I’m upset about having to move home without a job, I’m nervous about ever finding one and I’d give anything to be back in our rickety little apartment, even if I was just sitting on the wood floors. But, as I’m having to tell myself each day, the best parts of my little story aren’t over. Apartment C104 was one of the absolute greatest times in my life, contained the most wonderful best friend and roommate and basically other half-of-my-brain, was located above 4 of my other favorite people and neighbors in the world who basically let me live on their couch and in their lives for months, had a spectacular living room for movie nights across from one of the busiest kitchens for grilled-cheese-parties, and it was a fantastic little place to call home for a few months, but it isn’t the last of great times.

I’ll remember this past year in my favorite space bittersweetly, but for now it’s a little more bitter than sweet. I look forward to the future, but, all I’m saying is that the next apartment has some pretty big shoes, and wood floors, to fill.

And also, to whoever happens to move in next, good luck figuring out the light switches!

(Photo via Kasey Morgan Photography!)
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2 responses to “I Really Loved My Apartment

  1. alyssascavetta

    Kelsey!! I want to be the Matt Smith to your previous apartment/roommates David Tennant. I know life is sucky right now, and I hardcore appreciate that you’re not hiding it. But I’ve been there, and I’m still there now. Applying for jobs and deciding to move when there are no jobs (seemingly) and no prospects was ridiculous and still is. I feel like I’m wandering in the wilderness. But at the same time, God is drawing so so near in that. And He’s absolutely infuriating. His cross is infuriating. But it’s also so good (obv.) and his having you here in joblessness and being back home is totally His mercy and for His glory. Always has been, always will be. And it won’t stay that way either. It can’t. Things will change and it will be so quick when it does. So (easier said than done… for sure for sure) enjoy that wilderness while you’re in it. Because when you’re covered in his abundance, it makes that so so much sweeter.

    Sidenote: I applied to 75 jobs here before I finally got one call-back. And you have a kick ass resume. I believe in you, even if that means you staying in Houston or (hopefully, selfishly…) moving here to Austin or wherever!

    Sidenote to the sidenote: sorry this was so long.

  2. For lack of a better expression: GAAAHHH!! I KNOW.
    I just miss it. All of it. Even the random hall closet that smelled like cat pee (thank you, previous tenant). I fell in love with that quirky apartment just like I fell in love with all of my quirky friends!
    But that last day will never leave me. Just you and me, K, like it always was at the end of the day. Our poorly laid wood floor, white walls, boxes everywhere, Subway sandwiches, you and me. Bittersweet.
    I have a feeling that this whole experience is going to be like that atomic bomb candy I forced myself to suffer through! It’s probably going to be painful, but not unbearable. It’s probably going to seem like it will last forever, but it won’t. And it’s probably going to get sweet eventually.
    But for now, I miss you. And I miss all our friends. And I miss San Marcos. And I miss C104.

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