"Do you want to say goodbye?" Alistair asked. We were at the threshold of my old apartment. We'd dumped the last of my furniture (my old beige couch, a white dining room table and my childhood desk) with the help of two Task Rabbits. Someone came by and bought my bookshelf.
I told Alistair that I didn't want to say goodbye, but that was only because it would make me cry. I fought for that apartment. It was the first place I paid rent for on my own. Living there felt like ultimate independence.
I handed off the keys to the super and got a Lyft back to Brooklyn.
The temperature dipped down into single digits on Wednesday. I normally hate cold weather (unless there is snow!) but when I stepped out of the apartment and shivered to the bus stop I realized: this weather makes me feel alive.
You see, I've been bored lately. I need something new. I know I just moved but I've been waiting to move for five months, so it definitely doesn't feel new. But cold weather? Feeling my toes and fingers tingle in a new way? This was something that could challenge me.
That day there was a snow squall warning and for twenty minutes the wind whipped up around us and the snow fell horizontally as if my office were in a tornado. Everyone got up from their desks and watched. And after it was over, the sun came out again, and everything was still.
Thursday night I made homemade chili with cornbread for Alistair. Friday I had to speak at a meeting but was so terrible I went back to my desk holding back tears. Nothing worth noting happened on Friday or night or Saturday.