Despite my growing comfort tucked away in my rented bedroom at the Brummel Street Hostel for Wayward Shrinks (or my sister's condo, for short), it has come time that I move on out.
Tomorrow, I return to living solo, for the first time in four years. The last time was right before my dad died, and I was living in Bridgeport, three blocks from White Sox park. Man, I loved that apartment. It was small - the back, second apartment of my landlord's two flat. Actually, it used to be a butcher shop (yuck) years before that, and my landlord bought it, gutted it (no pun intended) and then lived in the first floor while renting the top.
And it was so cute too. It has two small bedrooms, one which was mine and the other I used as an office (and I mean SMALL - I could only fit my twin size bed in there - I used to call it my "Megan-only" bed. hee. hee.) I had a porch that wrapped around the top floor, and I would pull out my little chair, prop my feet up on the railing, usually towards the west to get the last rays of the setting sun, drink a beer (or three), have a few smokes, and just read a book. Ahh, the good old days.
But the best part? It was MINE.
After years of living with roommates, this was all for me. I could lay on the couch all day and not have to explain myself, shower at midnight, dance around in a tee-shirt and undies while alternately bouncing to Faith Hill or 50 Cent (yes, slightly embarrassed about the Fi-ty phase, but it was five years ago and he was actually popular at the time - you know, "Go shorty, it's yo birthday?" Holla!) I would leave my clothes on the floor and dishes in the sink, have an empty fridge but a cabinet full of candy - yep, I was living in Megan-made heaven.
It was in this apartment that Larry and I first began "dating." See, the day my dad got diagnosed, I left my job and moved home. That day. I was working with Larry at the time, and we couldn't date because of that, and instead we spent the whole year before that kinda making moon-eyes at each other, doing all the flirty tease things you do when you are goofishly trying to be noticed by someone. And during the year, we had confided in each other that maybe, after my time there ended, we could date. But despite all that, I never quite knew how Larry really felt about me, or if it would ever actually happen. And that night, when I went back to pack my bags and get the place organized, he came over, sat on my couch, and told me that he shared my feelings.
It was a emotionally odd day - feeling both devastated and scared about my dad, but excited and hopeful for this relationship, which I know sounds weird given my dad's situation and all, but you have to know how truly infatuated I was with Larry - the first time I saw him, before I knew I would be working with him, a year prior, I said to myself, "I am going to marry that man." And that night, I truly believed that it would happen. Before he left, we kissed underneath the street light in front of the building - it was late, the streets were silent. In hindsight, it was almost out of a movie.
And that was night I let go of my independence. In so many ways.
So tomorrow, I move back into my own place - a tiny, tiny studio a couple blocks from my sister and Larry (who, as most know, is no longer the boyfriend, but has become one of my best friends). So tiny in fact, that I seriously doubt that anyone would actually want to come and visit, and if they did, I would probably have to leave just so they could fit - but it doesn't matter - I love it. There's room for my bed and my bikes and my clothes. What else do you need?
Oh, and I did upgrade the bed - although for right now, it's still Megan-only.
So with the new job, the new license, the new apartment, new private practice starting this week, and being somewhat newly single, I feel very much like I am starting over.