Three's Company

So here it is a month later...With so much going on, I've barely had a chance to breathe, much less post. My visa was approved (yay!) and next I need to get the condo in shape for sale. With whatever profit I can pull, I'll be moving away to Eng-er-land.

For the past three days, I've had Ramon and his father-in-law working on the place while I've been at work. Each day I come home and am amazed at how much has been accomplished. Kitchen: new countertop, sink, faucet, garbage disposal. Bathroom: rip out the tiled countertop and replace with a new vanity, framed mirror, cool light fixture. Bedroom: new ceiling fan, patch of the HVAC location (previously hidden by my golden mean "art"). Thoughout the entire place: fresh toffee paint, white trim, new air filters, white-white ceilings. It looks fab. Now I know how those HGTV folks feel when they return home to find their home has been turned into something uber-cool.

Tonight, I find myself crouched into the corner of my bed, as it's loaded up with window treatments and stuff that wouldn't fit in the down-down but needed to be moved in order for them to paint. I went downstairs to my freshly-done living space and sat for a moment.

Breathe. Look around. Realize. I have been here for nearly 9 years (evident in the amount of stuff I've had to Goodwill and Freecycle over the past month). But wait -- there's something else. This condo has been my home and has seen me grow up. From a flaky 26 year old who partied every night to a responsible, bill-paying flaky chick who wants to move to England during a recession. It really hit me that it's going to be hard to leave this place. And it hit me hard.

Somehow, I was reminded of all of those long-running sitcoms and their last episodes. Like, when the three on Three's Company all move out and the closing scene is the three of them at the door, looking around the bare place and remembering the fun times they'd had. No more running to the Regal Beagle (or, in my case, Al Mike's). No more wild dating scenes with Larry (or, in my case, Red Aimee) and those of the opposite sex. No more chef dinners in the condo (or, in my case, a Girls' Night In with too much wine drinking).

I won't be here anymore. Like, I'm really leaving. It hit me so incredibly hard tonight, that I audibly caught my breathe a bit and welled up in tears. This place is really going to be hard to leave. I've never been anywhere in this town for so long, nor have I ever owned (individually) my own place until this sweet little condo.

I guess my sitcom has ended and the spinoff begins. Sometimes spinoffs work out well. I have a feeling this spinoff will be even better than the original show...and I'm looking forward to the network sweeps (or, in my case, when I post to this blog for others to see how wonderful a time I'm having across the pond).

I'm really doing this. I'm really nutsy enough to move to another country, giving up everything I have here to do so. It's funny that I've been preparing for this since last July, but only now believe that I'm actually doing it, as it's truly upon me.