Picking up stakes for my final move: memories, memories
I'm sure all of you have moved at one time or another, and as you all know, it sucks. I moved into this apartment a little over three years ago, and it was a sanctuary: I left a relationship, but returned to my family, my community, my routines that I loved so much.
This apartment has cost me a fortune, but it was worth it: I cooked many nice meals in this compact kitchen, made love in my bed, had many relaxing naps on the back porch, watched lots of television, smoked some dope, played my music, drank some whiskey, and just lived. I'll miss this apartment.
And so I'm moving to the my last place: a large house that has an apartment I can rent out, a nice place for me, a huge front and back yard, an attic for the kids and grandkids, and a bar to have lots of gatherings!
I'm surrounded by boxes right now: it's pouring rain outside. But it's time to leave.
Moving sucks. This is my last move, most likely until my body gives up the ghost, and when that happens, the crematorium is less than a mile away. How nice to keep it local.