Went over to the old house yesterday to finish up the last of the moving process. Most of our things were already gone, we were mainly packing up the last few things (including everything in the refrigerator) and cleaning. I lived there for nearly two years (and my husband’s been there longer), but the nearly empty rooms no longer felt like home. The feeling of detachment that lasted throughout most of the day felt strange because I thought I would be more upset about leaving.
The sadness didn’t hit me until we were making one final check of our old bedroom and we looked out the windows for the last time. I’m going to miss living there, because it was home for a long time, but it’s good for us to be gone. No more stressing about the cat-hating dog downstairs, the roommate’s bad habits, or the various house-related problems. And we can have a dog of our own at the new house. I might be getting a border collie mix puppy from the humane society, if she’s not adopted out before I call back in an hour or so. I’m quite excited about it, as I haven’t had a dog of my own for a couple of years.
