pack it in, pack it up

So it’s official – I have a destination address. The movers are updated. The elevator is reserved. Time Warner’s moving my cable services promptly next Wednesday. Oh and yeah. Me? I’m moving next Tuesday. Oh yeah!

I saw three places last Thursday. One which was nice, but a floor higher than my “max” I wanted for a walk-up. And was at the top of my price range. Ehhhh. Not ideal. One was not my favorite in location and was poorly laid out. Totally nixed. The other was so cute — an actual one bedroom (gasp), but the bedroom was too small for my not-Manhattan-friendly queen sized bed. Stressed, I went around the corner and decided it was only appropriate to try out the restaurant that would be on my block if I were to take either option. That night as I curled up in bed, I decided that I was going to take the bigger more expensive apartment. Done.

Or was it?

The next morning, I took my shower, and decided oh no no! I wanted the smaller one. It was cute. I loved it. And I could save money. A lot of money. And after all, wasn’t that why I was moving? So I pulled my hair back wet in a clip and ran out the door. I realized at about 10am I forgot to put on my make-up. Ooops.

I ran into the office, calling the broker en route. I knew another couple was going to head in to put the deposit down to pull it off of the market. Was I too late? Thank goodness no.

So what am I doing? Selling my furniture. I bought it when I was what, 23? I had just landed my first real “grown up” job. It’s symbolic of a right of passage of sorts. But it’s a relic of a different time. Back when I lived in the posh world of apartments of almost 1,000 square feet – square footage I’ll be waiting years to dream of touching.

Friday afternoon, I’ll be buying a new set of furniture. Full sized bed, here I come. I’m excited. I love the place. It’s very me and in a neighborhood I love. I’m ready. Dixie and I? We’re oh so ready.