I miss my little apartment by the sea (and by "sea" I mean the "sea of cars on I-15").
I am pretty adaptable to places, so I know I will soon get used to my new place and love it just as much (and probably much more-- I mean, it IS David Lynch's magical house of doors and mirrors), but there is still a sadness when saying goodbye to a place you have spent time and made memories in. Here are a few memories from the three months in apartment 1237...
*typing absurd poems at 2am on my absurdly loud typewriter
*convincing myself I was being attacked by bedbugs
*realizing the power (and necessity) of earplugs
*coming to kind of enjoy music playing 24/7
*drinking energy drinks at 3am and staying up until 8am
*reading hundreds of pages and writing more absurdities during these caffeine-fueled all-nighters
*witnessing the versatility of Top Ramen
*eating cottage cheese in the pantry so I wouldn't gross out Jack
*craving classical music
*watching a lot of "Curb Your Enthusiasm"
*oh yeah, and having a fair amount of emotional breakdowns... but hey, it may have helped me with the absurd writing! There's nothing like a good breakdown to produce some weird-as-shit dialogue.
And my roommates were fantastic. Lovely, lovely people. Even if one of them would, on occasion, snore. (Insert winking and smiling emoticon wearing alligator sunglasses.)