the new place

I keep getting requests to see pictures of the new apartment, but as I'm fairly forgetful and predominantly lazy, I haven't gotten to it yet. I assume the following are generic pictures of the apartment complex in general, and probably not my particular apartment at all, but they are what I have to go on until we arrive in Japan next month.

The アパート is 20 square meters, which is approximately 215 square feet. It's not a lot of space for one person, let alone two, but the price is only slightly higher than right. After the rental agency accepted our deposit, The Boy and I went promptly to Ikea. We wandered around for a while until we found the smallest example apartment they had—220 square feet. I mentally lobbed off the bathroom, and closed one eye to imagine my new home. It was smaller than my current living room.

However, I look at our new, confined space as an opportunity. For six years the husband and I have lived in our current apartment, slowly bringing things home and socking them away. With my new found ambivalence toward personal items, a tiny apartment seems oddly fulfilling. I needn't concern myself with where to put the myriad possessions I manage yet rarely see or touch, as the two suitcases and two boxes we are taking will be more than enough.

I am also reminded of the time my father-in-law took us to Hawai'i for a week. We all shared a tiny hotel room (which, to be fair, was probably larger than my new apartment will be), which quickly became strewn with clothes and sand, scented with saltwater air and fresh pineapple. I had never been to Hawai'i before, and I haven't been since. It was a beautiful and amazing place, nothing like the rest of the United States, and so much more than I had imagined. It was the same way I felt on my first trip to Japan, and I knew immediately that the hotel room didn't matter, because if I played my cards right, I would hardly be there at all.

So, yeah, my new apartment is going to be the size of some people's back yard sheds. That's all right. Once again, if I have my way, my days will be spent in school, and my evenings spent with my sweetheart, wandering Japan hand-in-hand, taking in everything Tokyo and its surrounding communities have to offer. I will spend my money on a comfortable bed, and I will sleep in my spartan palace, but I will be living somewhere else entirely.

(Also, I think it's adorable.)

five days

The apartment is beginning to empty out, but it is slow and tedious progress. We had a going away party this weekend, followed by an apartment sale. The former only unburdened us of a couple presents for friends we will dearly miss, but the latter had a you-touch-it-you-take-it policy in effect, so I think about half of our crap is gone.

The support of our family and our friends in this time of desperate begging for assistance and shilling of our wares is both awesome and sadly touching. It seems so terrible that our last memories (for the next couple years) of so many people will be loading their cars with our stuff. Still, I am humbled by all the people who have offered to fill boxes or buy things or give me a hug to keep me from climbing the walls.


My back has gotten significantly better, and I have been going on daily walks. I am back to packing boxes (while kneeling on the floor or bending properly!) and loading the car for daily trips to Goodwill. The only problem, and it's sort of a big one, is that I can not sit in one place for more than 20 minutes without stabbing back and hip pain. I avoid the agony by moving as much as possible, but the prospect of a 12+ hour drive to California, followed by a 12+ hour flight to Japan, leaves me worried.

I have a reference for a local chiropractor, and hopefully I can weasel in an appointment before leaving town. Bend me, snap me, slap me, tweak me...whatever it takes to make me right again. If at all possible, I hope to figure out exactly what it is I am doing to myself which has caused the time between attacking spasms to grow ever shorter. I am completely convinced that one of my legs is shorter than the other, but am also fully willing to accept that my atrocious posture is to blame. Whatever the case, I am at my wit's end, and I am desperate for answers.

The next few days are actually fairly low key. Jarrett has school and work all day on both days, so I plan to systematically fill boxes with donate-able items, and drop them off at the Goodwill. There was a point some months ago—and even a few weeks ago—when I had grand ideas about what I wanted to put into storage for the next few years. With only five whole days left in town, I find I have a complete lack of sentimentality. Also, making money off apartment sales is nice, but simply giving things away or strategically abandoning them at intersections is sounding more and more desirable.

As an indicator of both Jarrett's and my obsession with depleting our stock, the most exciting thing that has happened to us in weeks was when we drove past a liquor store and found a six-foot wall of reinforced booze boxes outside for the taking. We gleefully loaded the car, drove home our precious find, and promptly filled them with everything left in our cupboards.

We have no more plates or silverware or cups, and we eat exclusively from bags or boxes.

I feel as if I should be more stressed out than I am. However, after weeks of sickness and pain and worry, I am disturbingly calm. I just keep hearing my dad's words in the back of my head: if it's meant to be, it will all work out. I'm no fatalist and, to be honest, that was one of the platitudes which drove me nuts as a child. As an adult, I find them strangely soothing. Essentially, I can do every single thing which can be done between now and Monday. I will either finish the job or I won't, but either way, I am loading the car with what fits, and I am driving away from Portland no matter what.

I don't need to pull out my hair or cleanse the apartment with fire. I just need to take a deep breath and remember that all my dreams are coming true. I am at the exact point I have been planning for three years. I am (mostly) healthy. I have the best husband in the world, and a truly awesome family. I have great friends, and I am not completely broke. I am moving to Japan. I can honestly say that there is nowhere else I would rather be, nothing else I would rather do, than spend my days helping everything work out.

On a far more positive note than he ever intended, I keep smiling and thinking of the immortal words of George Eastman, "My work is done. Why wait?"

we are official!

After waiting the requisite seven days, Jarrett and I returned to the Japanese Consulate last week to pick up our passports, complete with new student visas. Hooray!

We now have everything in order for the trip to Japan, and we leave the country in three short weeks. We've been packing and craigslisting like crazy, so there isn't much more than that to report. Pack, clean, pack, clean, Goodwill, sleep...

Let it be known, however, that I am not complaining. This is week number three of a mostly screwed-up back, and last week I was sick as a dog, so the fact that I am ambulatory enough to wing crap into boxes, or quietly abandon small household wares in the lobby of the apartment, is good enough for me. I wish I believed in chiropractors, or that any of the medicines I have been prescribed would do anything other than make me sleepy. In the mean time, I pack, then I rest, then I pack, then I take a short walk for exercise.

Onward!