A one story difference
Despite my efforts to do nothing, to avoid change, it finds me. In this revolving world, the movements of others shift the ground under my feet. A move was requested from me. So I moved down one story.
It's a lovely place. While it is one floor down, the dimensions, the amenities, even the number and placement of the windows is different. It is a place with entirely different possibilities.
It was not a very orderly move. Then again, I am not known for my orderly moves. I am not know for being orderly in general. JB hired someone to do the heavy lifting for me and I did the rest. Lots of running up and down the stairs.
Now, I can't find a damn thing. Like losing your place in a book, I've lost my place in my life. What exactly was it that I doing?
On the other hand, I have also found few things that I had misplaced, reminders of things that I have intended to do, and reminders of other phases of my New York life. Some of them seem a distant memory now, like separate lives. I can't even remember why I stopped doing those things and being that person. I just did. Perhaps it was time to move.