Sometimes things just don’t work out the way you planned them. When Eva and I began to discuss moving off campus and out of the NYU dorms last year, we thought that we’d probably just stick together until we graduated. We thought we might stay in the same apartment for three years. While we settled here mainly for budgetary reasons, the Upper East Side of Manhattan seemed rife with opportunity—if not for adventure and bawdy good times, then at least for a different way of life than the one we’d grown accustomed to living just a few blocks from the academic temples of NYU. About that last bit, we were quite right.
Eva moved out today. I’m sticking around, don’t you worry. I’ve known about this for a while now, and have been hemming and hawing over just how to approach the topic here in blogland. I think this blog is fairly personal, and I hope you share that feeling, of course. But in the same breath, I don’t consider it a catch-all for nearly everything that happens in my life, and I certainly don’t see it as a repository for what happens in the lives of others. Since it is, after all, a blog about this apartment I keep gabbing about far more than it is a blog about me.
Suffice to say this wasn’t an easy decision for her, and it wasn’t an easy process for either of us. That said, it really didn’t have much to do with me. We were friends when we found this apartment, we were friends while we lived here together, and we’re friends now. Relationships of all kinds, including friendships, change and evolve and shift over time, and that’s what’s happening here. From strangers to neighbors to friends to roommates and now back to friends, it’s been quite a year and a half for her and I. Change is good. She’s moving back into NYU housing and I wish her all the best, sincerely.