Goodbye, Tremont

It's hard not to cry, even though I'm just moving across town. Not even "across" town. Just across the river, in a new neighborhood. I've lived in North Chattanooga on and off since my sophomore year or so of high school. But the neighborhood isn't everything though. I haven't felt comfortable in my apartment for the past three months, at least. Between an excessive leaking pipe and—yes—a leaking water heater under my house, I've been upset and the mildewy kind of mold I've found on some of my items, not to mention the outrageous bills.

I thought I wouldn't be affected—healthwise, or even bothered by having to get rid of the damaged items—but of course, my high-priced "outdoors" goods are the first to get mildewy damage because they're made of highly porous synthetics. My messenger back, my backpack, my nice down vest, an old blue purse. Maybe some of my quilts that had been in my closet. I have to get out of here as soon as possible.

The packing started today. Grace brought some boxes by and left them on my porch. So far? One box. 100 tears. Some sad music that's only made it worse. It's hard to imagine a nicer apartment after I've been suffering in this one for so long. It just feels like a mundane thing to do—especially compared to some of the past moves.

A little longer than a year ago, I moved in with ZERO furniture and just happened to adopt a couch. Chairs and bookcases and a dresser came later, as well as some stools. Before that, my moves to and from Oregon consisted of four or so packages and as much as I could feasibly fly or take a train with (not much). Before that, my sister and I were moving around Knoxville. She had this crazy ability to round up a group of guys—maybe 4, 5 of them—to appear at our house early moving day.

What bothers me about this move is NOT so much the damage, but the neglect on behalf of the landlord. I don't wish this apartment on anyone. I don't wish to pay even MORE rent to live in a shittier, more problematic space in this neighborhood, either. Get me out from under all the trees, a little further away from the river, out of this holler. I'm heading toward a more urban area, lots of folks, not nearly as many hills and easier access to a wider variety of neighborhoods and amenities.

I have let this become an emotional move, and I don't mind it so much. Mold must make me a more emotional person.