6.12.2004
the last night
What follows was written at the posting time by hand, but was uploaded later.
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My computer having jettisoned its bootable hard drive, or at least, its recognition thereof, I am forced to write this portion of my blog by hand. A fittingly rustic way, I suppose, to end a three-year adventure in this very apartment. I am currently all but moved out - my desks have gone, as have my chairs, tables, and kitchenware, to say nothing of my books and shelves, which vacated this place long ago. Unfortunately joining my furniture in absence is my bed, and so I end my tenure here as I started it - sleeping on a hardwood floor on a few blankets and the comfort of a single reading-lamp. With such a sparse and unadorned space, a new phenomenon has developed - my apartment echoes! Not just a slight reverberation, but a truly differentiated echo. How cool!
I did, I admit, saddle both my mother and father with the burden of driving my belongings to Massachusetts on two separate occasions each, one of which befell my father last night, and one of which befell my mother this morning and afternoon. The act of helping someone move is difficult enough without the beneficiary of your kindness being a real pain in the neck - my mom and dad are amazing people and phenomenally loving parents. Three years of teaching have shown me that parenting is not an easy job. I put up with kids for about six or eight hours per day, and I get paid! In truth, the students are far more easy to "put up with" than I may have inplied, and no, I don't get paid a lot, but the fact remains that these kids go home to parents who have to deal with them for the other fourteen or sixteen hours each day. I think that I have a decent grasp of how hard parenting can be. Or, at least, I thought that I did. How my parents managed to help me move while I was being moody, frantic, and snappy is well beyond me. Thank you, Mom and Dad. And to all of you out there for whom this situation sounds vaguely familiar, be certain to thank those who love you unconditionally too.
In the spirit of farewells, I listened to some of the state funeral of Ronald Reagan on the radio. Now, I'll be frank - I am no fan of Reagan's politics, but I was very moved by the service. At one point, I even started to tear up.
Well, this is it: my last night in what has been a fine place to live. The stove is scrubbed, the bathroom sparkling, the fridge empty, the closets bare, adn the floors swept. I hope that whoever rents this apartment next will have as much fun here as I have. Goodnight.
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My computer having jettisoned its bootable hard drive, or at least, its recognition thereof, I am forced to write this portion of my blog by hand. A fittingly rustic way, I suppose, to end a three-year adventure in this very apartment. I am currently all but moved out - my desks have gone, as have my chairs, tables, and kitchenware, to say nothing of my books and shelves, which vacated this place long ago. Unfortunately joining my furniture in absence is my bed, and so I end my tenure here as I started it - sleeping on a hardwood floor on a few blankets and the comfort of a single reading-lamp. With such a sparse and unadorned space, a new phenomenon has developed - my apartment echoes! Not just a slight reverberation, but a truly differentiated echo. How cool!
I did, I admit, saddle both my mother and father with the burden of driving my belongings to Massachusetts on two separate occasions each, one of which befell my father last night, and one of which befell my mother this morning and afternoon. The act of helping someone move is difficult enough without the beneficiary of your kindness being a real pain in the neck - my mom and dad are amazing people and phenomenally loving parents. Three years of teaching have shown me that parenting is not an easy job. I put up with kids for about six or eight hours per day, and I get paid! In truth, the students are far more easy to "put up with" than I may have inplied, and no, I don't get paid a lot, but the fact remains that these kids go home to parents who have to deal with them for the other fourteen or sixteen hours each day. I think that I have a decent grasp of how hard parenting can be. Or, at least, I thought that I did. How my parents managed to help me move while I was being moody, frantic, and snappy is well beyond me. Thank you, Mom and Dad. And to all of you out there for whom this situation sounds vaguely familiar, be certain to thank those who love you unconditionally too.
In the spirit of farewells, I listened to some of the state funeral of Ronald Reagan on the radio. Now, I'll be frank - I am no fan of Reagan's politics, but I was very moved by the service. At one point, I even started to tear up.
Well, this is it: my last night in what has been a fine place to live. The stove is scrubbed, the bathroom sparkling, the fridge empty, the closets bare, adn the floors swept. I hope that whoever rents this apartment next will have as much fun here as I have. Goodnight.
