Moving out of 16 Armstrong

Another re-discovered post from a while back. I'm guessing mid-August 2010.

It's been over a month since I moved, and my new apartment feels like home, but it is never easy to turn your back to anything you've been close to for a while. At the end of July, I left 16 Armstrong St. for the last time.

I'd lived in that apartment for three years. It was nicely broken in, and I felt settled. When we secured this new place, I really didn't think at all about how strange leaving Armstrong was going to be. Our two leases overlapped for the last two weeks of July, and I didn't hesitate to begin the move right away. I stayed in the new place on the first night, and all I had was a duffle bag full of clothes to use as a pillow. My brother and I moved most of my belongings in one day, and after that, I was basically done living on Armstrong.

I went back there every day to clean the place, pack a few more boxes, and even rehearse with Richard Saunders (a great vocalist I have a duo with). At one point, there were only two chairs left, and nothing except bookshelf and dust in the living room.

I started spending all my free time there during the day, even when I was not busy cleaning. My roomates were there at different times (much earlier usually), so I was often alone. About three days before the lease ended, I moved the last of my belongings (again with my brothers' help) over to my current dwelling. It was then that this reflective feeling started to sink in. My brother asked how I was feeling about this, and I told him that it was starting to feel strange.

The next two days were fairly busy - my roommates were making sure everything was tidy (so as to not lose our deposit), and we spent more time there than usual. On the last night of the lease, I was there from about 8PM to Midnight. Casey (my longtime friend and roommate of a year) showed up at about 11PM (from work) to help take down the last of the trash (there was alot of trash). We had one or two more trips to make when I asked her if we could stay there for a while after we finished because I wasn't ready to leave. With that, I started to cry.

Moving into that apartment was the first good thing to happen to me after my mother died, and I think that's what had struck me the most upon leaving it. Knowing a place really well isn't everything (although I will admit I got a slight sinking feeling in my gut when I moved out of my dorm after freshman year), but I don't think I'll ever forget what that place looked like, the experiences I had there, or any of the five other people I lived there with over that time.