A Girl...

Long Night's Journey into Day

Not one of the three of us slept more than an hour last night. I was awake and snivelling about leaving my wonderful apartment and selling my princess desk and putting my smallest, crappiest bookshelf out on the curb for the collegiate scroungers. Simon was awake with a similarly busy mind, although his was composing a country song entitled "Soft-Feeling Woman, Hard-Drinking Man" by the light of his cell phone at 1 a.m. Eve was awake too. But Eve is always awake. At least now I feel better about letting her crawl under the covers and walk around on my chest; with her new and improved claws, I no longer start the day looking like I've engaged in heavy petting with Johnny Depp circa 1990.

We entered my apartment yesterday armed with boxes and packing tape. Where to begin. Oh, where to begin.

I assembled the first box and then walked from room to room trying to force myself into an efficient and logical state of mind instead of one that wants to stop and kiss every doorjamb and dusty runningboard because these are the days of our lives, like sands through the hourglass, sunrise, sunset, etcetera etcetera. It was not going so well.

When Simon suggested we go to IKEA to look at bookshelves for his place, I only reluctantly agreed, because even in my sentimental haze I could see that this was just procrastination rearing its ugly head again. We're both painfully aware that unless we just gird our loins and start in on the work, we're never going to get anything done, AND YET into the car we hopped at 8 p.m. before one ceramic kitty figurine had been wrapped lovingly in bubblewrap and placed gently in a cardboard box. T-minus fifteen days and counting and we haven't moved a single thing. We are so screwed.

At IKEA we found the bookshelves of our dreams and fantasized about finally having all the records and all the DVDs and all the CD folders and minidiscs and tapes in order (and in wicker!). "We'll alphabetize your CDs with mine?" Simon said, making sure to point out that such a move was bold and dramatic and Committment with a capital C, and therefore something that should be acknowledged with reverence and a moment of silence among the Duktiv and Gutvik shelving solutions (a marked improvement on the uncermonious exchange of house keys this time last year, when he just tossed the shiny metal SYMBOL OF OUR UNION at me like it was something he did every day).

So we will be alphabetizing our CDs together and there will be wicker and we will be capital-C committed. That is, if we ever get around to actually moving my stuff.

IKEA closed, we were forced out, we did not get a $1 cinnamon bun.

And then we went home and while Simon squirrelled around on YouTube, I emptied the contents of my desk drawers and cried about a hundred tears for every little thing I threw out: rental card for the video store near my parents' house in Salt Lake, broken ceramic mini-mask my ballet friend Jenny Waldram gave me in 1994, $2 necklace constructed partially with fishingline that I wore to death in junior high. Later today I'll take a picture of the desk and the matching nightstand--the last pieces of the princess bedroom set I got when I was eight--and post them for sale online. Sunrise, sunset, blowin' in the wind, cry me a river.

I packed three whole boxes before I just had to stop. This is much harder than I thought it would be. First of all, I'm moving in with the best guy ever, and second of all, I'm moving into a place that already feels like home. Third of all, haven't I complained EVERY SINGLE DAY about this two-house bullshit we've been enduring, and isn't this exactly what I've wanted all along, since before I even dared hope for it? What is my fricken' problem? Turn that shit upside down, woman! *slap slap*

As I tossed and turned and wiped my damn leaky eyes all night, the one thing that calmed me was, surprisingly, NOT reaching over to touch Simon lying (awake) next to me, but the thought of the new IKEA bookshelves we'll buy together and assemble together and fill together with our single massive CD collection. Just like I'd suspected, the other side of Change is not necessarily Loss but, for lack of a better antonym, Acquisition. Getting rid of the princess desk means awesome new bookshelves of the variety I've been coveting for ages. And leaving behind the apartment in which I did a hell of a lot of growing up means I get to do a hell of a lot more growing up as well as a hell of a lot of waking up in same bed every morning with the man that means more to me than a thousand and one princess desks, gold trim and all.