Over the weekend I had a ton of work to do, and just couldn't make myself do it. When we lived in Shaker Square, I used to remedy this problem by walking half a block to Dewey's and parking myself at a table until my work was done... it did the trick every time. My dad (the nutty professor) is known to go on and on about the sociological importance of the "third place" -- everyone has home, work, and a third place that they see as an important anchor to their idea of home and community. I'm honestly trying to adopt new "third places" since we moved, but it's not working too well so far (I'll keep you updated on my search). For now I go to my old third places, where I know the employees, which tables are wobbly, and which of the weird regulars are harmless despite their odd behavior.
So anyway, I got my work done with the help of a delicious cup of coffee and then decided to go see the dumpster cats. I may have moved, but I still visit Jazzy and Skinny anytime I'm in the old neighborhood. It's pretty revealing of my crazy cat lady tendencies, because I actually keep cat treats and a Ziploc bag of super-healthy cat food in my glove box for these occasions. Anyhow, I found skinny snoozing next to the dumpster in my old parking lot, and as soon as Jazzy heard me he came bounding out from between the two buildings with his tail up. Geez, I miss him doing that every day. My damn spoiled house cat looks at me like "oh, you. You're home. Great." So I gave Jazzy a few minutes of back scratches, got hissed at by Skinny (he is very lacking in the social skills department), fed them, and then started walking back to my car.
While I was doing so, I looked up. Oops. I shouldn't have. I noticed curtains hanging in the window of my old office/girlie room -- someone has moved into my old apartment. I wouldn't say I was upset by it, but I was momentarily stricken with an odd feeling. It isn't just not my home anymore, it's actually someone else's home. I wonder if they've kept the walls purple and green. I wonder if they know how one of the tiles in the kitchen floor got cracked. I wonder if they will notice that we carved our initials inside of one of the closets. I wonder if the landlord told them that the previous tenants were burglarized due to his indifference to changing the locks EVER in the past decade. Probably not.
Oh well. If nothing else, I suppose it adds a little more closure to the chapter of life when that was my home.
