In less than a month, Hubster will graduate and shortly after that, his graduate assistantship will come to an end and we will need to move out of our campus apartment. We don’t know exactly when we’re moving yet; mostly because we don’t know where we’re headed next. Yet, I think I’ve already begun to mentally check out of this place.
Our bathtub is riddled with hardwater and iron stains, but I have no desire to clean it. After all, I’ll need to clean it again next month before we move out. Same goes with the window sills, corners of the rooms, refrigerator, kitchen sink, oven…the list goes on. I’ve given up on keeping the place spotless because I’ll need to do a final scrubbing of everything just a few weeks from now. Why bother to do it twice? Who really cares if the bathtub is shiny for a few more weeks?
I’ve also come to the “end of my rope,” if you will, when it comes to living in this space. Just above our bathroom is a bathroom shared by some students in a suite and shortly across the hall are public bathrooms. The chorus of flushing toilets doesn’t bother me; but every time someone takes a sh*t in the tri-state area, we get to smell it.
I CANNOT. WAIT. for C to have his own bedroom. Sharing a bedroom is becoming increasingly problematic the older that C gets. He knows that we’re right next to him, so we need to wait for him to fall back asleep when he gets up in the middle of the night before we can enter the room. I often wake up hours later with a kink in my neck because I fell asleep on the couch. I also wake up every time C moves around in his sleep – and this kid is an untamed animal in his sleep.
Hubster would like to move our bed into the living room. I told him that if he can come up with the logistics of that, then I’m all for it. (You may remember that he had this idea a while back, and I wasn’t a big fan. “Welcome to my home, please have a seat on my bed.”)
Maybe it’s better to be eager for a new adventure than sad about what will be left behind.