6 years

We had a visit from the exterminator today. I spent the last several days packing up everything I own and now, tonight, I am unpacking it all again, putting all my blouses and coats back on hangers, all my pants, t-shirts and bras in their respective drawers. Seems sorta redundant.

And now I'm left with a lingering sick, sweet smell.

Six years ago today, this apartment was still new, and I still had knickknacks in boxes piled in a corner. We'd christened it with parties and dinners.

Six years ago we reveled in our first paychecks. I'd worked my first post college job for a mere three weeks and, after a summer of miserable, uncertain job hunting, I finally considered myself a true resident of New York City.

Six years ago I was experiencing a strange sense of freedom, heady and too sudden. Six years ago I was in love. I was living my independent Mary Tyler Moore life. First paychecks, first apartment, first real job, first real doubts, first real fears.

Six years later I'm watching the footage of six years ago, the part of the story I'd missed while on my new morning commute. It's strange to me that a date spelled out across the TV screen seems the grammar of a new language; a crisp fall day carries chillier undertones.

Six years later I am maybe a little less heady, a little less in love, apartment a little shabbier, a new job is a little less exciting. And yet, I'm glad for where my life is today. I'm glad I went through this with you. And I'm glad six years later we are together telling our six years ago stories.