So it looks like I have a new apartment: tonight I go to sign the paperwork on a pleasant, spacious one-bedroom at 7502 Ridge Avenue in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn.
On the one hand, I’m glad to have this particular chore done, and glad it’s an apartment I can feel good about: in a nice neighborhood, close to the subway, close to shopping and a dry cleaner, with laundry in the basement. On the other hand, taking the actual step of paying for a new place gives the whole divorce process a depressing feeling of finality. I never wanted things to come to this, and I still don’t. I’m doing this because I have to, not because I want to, and I am very sad.
I’m also scared. I’m scared of the financial risks of moving before I have a job that will allow me to afford the new apartment, though I appreciate Jenny’s generosity in helping me in the meantime. I’m also scared of living alone, something I’ve never really done.
The move will presumably happen over the weekend of September 1. A week later, I’ll have my birthday on September 8, when I will turn 33. That day will also mark six months of sobriety. This may well be the hardest birthday I’ve ever had. If you’re a friend of mine and reading this, I hope you’ll give me a call and maybe come keep me company on my birthday.
Let’s hope things are looking up by the time I turn 34.