Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Domesticity, of a sort
I'm almost tempted to just close up shop on this blog, leaving it abandoned like many others. It's been a while since anything has happened to me that most reasonable people would call science fiction. That's probably a good thing for me and the world at large - who wants to think about having one's mind ripped from her body and put somewhere else more than absolutely necessary? - but who wants to write about the minutia of apartment hunting when you've done things that are almost impossible to believe?
The funny thing is, even those little ordinary things do wind up tying into the weird stuff every once in a while. Take the finding a new place to live - Kate and I actually wound up finding a single-family house in Cambridge. Apparently the real estate market is still a little soft, and the value of this place went down when its river view wound up blocked by a construction site. Regardless, Kate fell for the place almost immediately - where some might see uneven floors and a distinct paucity of electrical outlets as major inconveniences, Kate thought they added character. Since we knew the next person to see it would probably grab the place (as they probably should have; the rent is only a couple hundred more than what a two-bedroom apartment will run you), Kate was writing out a deposit check right on the kitchen counter while I was counting how many extension cords and surge protectors we'd need.
Anyway, once we'd committed to that, there was a lot of moving to do. Boxing up our stuff, and then unboxing it. Once Kate's parents heard "house", they saw a great opportunity to move things from their basement to ours. Even Nat is making noises about shipping some of my old stuff from Seattle, since little Marty gets into everything and, besides, she's looking at moving in with her new boyfriend and having this other guy's stuff around is kind of awkward.
Then there's other stuff. Like the post office. Most of my mail comes addressed to Martina Hart , but there's still some stuff that, even three years after I stopped using that name, still gets addressed to "Michelle Garber". What can I say - I'm a little more comfortable having the Victoria's Secret or Avon catalogs be coming to "someone else". Oh, no, I'd never sign up for that!
They're probably not going to follow me this time, though, since I'm not filling out change of address cards using Michelle's name. I'm not saying I'll particularly miss them, but I feel kind of weird chipping that much more of "Michelle" out of my life. It's this body's birthday on Sunday, and I don't plan on celebrating it - "my" birthday is February 2nd, and my swap-day is July 19th. Doesn't seem quite right - like I'm erasing every trace that Michelle ever existed.