Originally written on Sunday (thus explaining the intro), but I didn’t have the house photo, so it got posted late!
Generally speaking, Sunday mornings have been good to me these last couple of years. I’d wander out of my bedroom, brew a pot of coffee, drag my laptop out onto the kitchen table and contemplate breakfast. Then Amy would wander out of her bedroom, talk about eggs/toast/cereal, and take a seat next to me. By this time, my laptop would be open, and I would start reading random news items aloud. I leaned toward the more absurd (once, a bunch of pirates attacked a Finnish ship that flew under a Maltese flag in Swedish waters). Every once in a while, the random person sleeping in our living room would join us at the kitchen table.
These days, alas, are gone. My last Sunday in Reno was a week ago (and I actually spent that last Sunday morning with my parents at Peg’s). Today, I am sitting in “my bedroom” (really, the guest bedroom in my parents’ new house), reading the news by myself and contemplating whether I really want to get out of bed or not. Sadly, this is a place that doesn’t look too kindly on spending all day in bed.
My next Sunday will be spent in some house in Washington, D.C. I will have no friends to read the news to or family to make me breakfast.
I haven’t processed the move yet. It feels like another school year has ended, and I’m in Vegas for my “I should see my family semi-regularly” visit. It feels like I’ll be back on a Southwest flight any day now, and one of the Amy’s will pick me up from the airport, and depending on which Amy it is, we’ll either go to Gold N Silver or Bibo’s, then this Amy will take me to the bookstore or home.
But even if I went back to Reno tomorrow, there would be no home to return to. I moved all of my stuff out of the West Street house on Wednesday, shoving everything into the back of Zeller’s car. It was quite a feat, packing up everything I’ve accumulated throughout the last four years, but we (Zeller, Lauder and I) did it.
When I finally had to get into the car, I bawled when I had to say goodbye to Lauder, then spent the next 10 minutes bawling in the car before Zeller and I got to In ‘N Out, where I proceeded to bawl because my other roommate, Dana, was working there at the time.
I can’t count how many times people laughed when I told them I lived at the last house on the left, or how many times I fell asleep on the couch (the last time being my last night there — couch > bed). From playing hide ‘n seek to sitting on the back porch with beer in hand to have a water war standoff in the front, the house was the perfect place for it all to happen.
That house was just as important to me as the people who lived in it. So, goodbye, West Street house. I hope whoever lives in you next is just as appreciative as I am.