Unfurnished

Spent my first night in the new apartment with no bed, no couch, no table—just standing in each room at midnight like I’d solved some great riddle. Thomi and Sven had loaded a truck at some ungodly hour and drove my life across the city, which is the kind of thing that requires a long memory. The empty space felt less depressing and more like possibility, at least for the first few hours.

Then 5 AM came. Back at the old place on my knees with a sponge, handing over keys to a stranger, straight to work. No sleep in between. The good feeling lasted until about noon, then reality just wore it down.

Vacation next week and I’m not leaving the apartment. Becca’s helping me paint. Cedric moved his dentist appointment to haul furniture on Monday. Other people are drifting through whenever they want to see what an empty apartment looks like. That’s apparently what a housewarming is now.

The furniture company won’t deliver for three to six weeks. Internet’s the same way. So I’ll be offline for a bit, which is fine. There’s something good about that—just walls and paint and nobody calling. Just the ordinary miracle of owning something small.

Halloween’s coming up. Nightmare Before Christmas, Corpse Bride, maybe Sweeney Todd if the night’s still young. The obvious choice for someone sitting alone in a house that still smells like fresh floors. Nothing fancy about it. Just what makes sense.