Oh, the changes.
Things have been completely upended, and for once it seems to be in an entirely good way. Remember the strange girl? The one who was a houseguest last week? She is no longer our houseguest. She is our roommate. She has agreed to make her home upon the Klaus. The tension and excitement around the table last night, as we tried to talk her into it, was completely palpable. You could FEEL decisions happening.
In a way I am terribly jealous of her -- you only get to move to New York once, you know. I am jealous that she gets that rush, that feeling of euphoria of suddenly knowing where you fit; that she gets to do something so impetuous and amazing and brave. I cannot think of anything I might do that would equal the feeling I got when I first decided to move here, when I first crossed the bridge into Brooklyn, looked around, and said, "Holy fuck, I *live* here now." Maybe it is enough that I have felt that way once -- I imagine some people never get it at all.
In addition to being a thoroughly delightful person, one who somehow seems to tolerate the oddities of the pre-existing roommates, she also somehow managed to get us to sweep and scrub and tidy. My apartment is transfigured -- clean and sparkly. And there are fresh flowers on the tables. And new blankets on the Klaus. And new shelves on the wall. And the newest resident of New York City, safely ensconced where she belongs.