I’m moving out. I knew shortly after moving this past August that it would be a one year deal. The move is not only prompted by my crazy land lady but by the circumstances of life, love and career. Which really means that I have no idea what I’m doing but at least I’ve made one decision, the decision to not live here any longer.
I’m not expecting to move until July or August but I’ve started planning. Planning for moving has helped me focus my anxiety on something. I might not know where I’m going to move or exactly when, but at least I know it can and will be an organized move.
My two roommates decided to stay it out for another year. The house is beautiful and the rent, if a little high, isn’t outrageous. They also seem to be able to better role with the punches handed out by the land lady. The search for a new Marijka began a couple weeks ago.
The ad reads: “We are looking for a professional or grad student to replace relocating female professional.” Before the first bite they outlined criteria for this new roommate, including female, unique first name and “super hot” female friends. They’ve had some success with the gender but not with the name and I have no idea about the hotness factor.
This past Saturday the first contender came for a viewing. I had planned to be out for the entire day, but ended-up popping by to pick-up gear. I caught the tale end of her interview. I sat downstairs for a few minutes while they chatted upstairs.
My roommates were sharing stories of life in the house thus far. It was strange to listen in on a conversation about me, specifically about my banana habit and how it is not to be messed with. These are the kind of conversations that will happen after I leave. They were told with humor and kindness, in a way anyone would like to be discussed.
After a few minutes I ventured upstairs to introduce myself to my potential replacement. I had to damp down those instinctive feelings of competition, after all it was my decision not to stay. Still, here was a new girl on my turf, trying to take over my roommates, checking out my bedroom.
She seemed OK but she was no me. I’m sure they will find someone who will be great, maybe even better than me. Maybe someone who will be more willing to share her bananas. I want that for them but there is still this eeking feeling of sadness, of endings soon to come.
In less than a year I’ll be 30. Within my circle of friends, rounding the 30 year mark means it is time to invest in property. They aren’t getting married or having kids, they are becoming responsible home owners.
