We're 90% moved; all that remains in our old apartment is three plants, a few pieces of furniture we're giving away to friends, my wedding dress hanging in the closet and 800 lbs of soil in a planter box outside on the balcony that we'll spend a day shoveling out with a 6 pack of beers. Also, a lot of dust and cat hair.
I'm sore as hell, my hands are dry with cardboard cuts all over them and I'm suffering from what I'm calling "schadenapartamento" -- some kind of deep longing to be back in the home we had. But, I'm coming around to the new place as the dust settles, and the moving out process is also cathartic in a thousand ways. It makes you think about the significance and weight of the objects you've accumulated, so many of them good ideas at some moment in time, but now lost in piles of papers or deep inside boxes that haven't been opened in years. It feels good to shed, or in our case, donate -- bags upon bags of stuff to our neighbor's perpetual stoop sale or the sidewalk -- and see it disappear to someone else, who sees some possibility in the significance of an object to them at this new moment in time.
Because I stop to evaluate everything, it took me forever to pack (with Jacob constantly throwing a worried glance my way -- are you stopping to look at photos again?). I'd come across relics -- hundreds of rolls of 35mm and 120mm film, an old Polaroid of me DJ'ing on the LES in 2004, a large format Polaroid of Jacob the first week we were dating, our friend Scott's CD Moonbeams still in its case, a postcard of the Swiss Alps, and so on -- which, whether 2 or 4 or 7 or 12 years old, made me so acutely aware of the passing of time, and how so much of the significance of objects is created by the feeling of novelty and familiarity that comes with being reacquainted something you haven't seen for long enough that it feels new and discoverable again.
We continue to unpack, but also charge forward. Friday morning (30 hours from now!) we head to Mexico City for 5 days to do a Girl Walk screening at UNAM (the largest university in Latin America) this Sunday, 4/22 at 1 p.m. (free + open to the public) at the school's contemporary art museum (MUAC). Aside from the 77 minutes that Girl Walk is playing, I have no idea what adventures we'll take, and make. Only thing for sure: I'll have a camera. More, soon.