We gave our landlady a written confirmation that we are moving out in September. We did that at 1:30p.m. on the 1st, when we paid our rent. Yesterday, between the hours of 5 and 7, she showed the house to 10 different interested buyers, and we saw at least two more stop by the sign and jot down the number.

Clare had cleaned the place to a stellar extent. Even I was impressed when I walked in. She had also framed the posters from my previous shows and my certificate recognizing my proficiency in quarterstaff. The place looked clean, spacious, well-lit and homey. And it was then that I realized how much I am going to miss it.

This place really represents my comfort zone, moreso than other places I have lived. When I lived alone in my efficiency, I was contented. It had all I needed as a single man, and I could make it amenable to guests. Our place downtown was charming enough, and in Glendale we worked out the initial kinks of living as a couple. But all of those places are fading in my memory pretty quickly. This place is different.

Granted, it’s more of a house than other places we have lived. I think there’s more to it than that. I think it just became the perfect place for Clare and me. There was plenty of storage space to hide away all the things we never used, but we still had access to them. And the large open living area really appealed to me, when we did not clutter it.

We also had some very memorable parties in this house. We hosted a Victorian Murder Mystery that I must say was practically professional in quality. And the Lebowski party for my 30th stands out clearly as some of the most fun I have had on a birthday. Even just having people over to play games has been made more comfortable by that house. I feel welcome and I think my friends do, too.

It saw the birth of my theater career, such as it is, and it has a perfect little room to house my accolades. It has plenty of natural light, modern amenities, and a touch of the old world. Our landlady describes it as charming in her Cragislist posting and that is actually appropriate rather than a meaningless buzzword. I can understand now why its previous occupants were so loathe to leave and so pleased to hand it over to a friend.

Even that holds some value for me when I think about this house. This place also saw me leave an employer that made me miserable, but belonged to one of my colleagues who has become my friend. I never thought I would feel sad about leaving a place. The sting has always been so mild. But after last night, watching people walk around andd inspect my home… I feel like I grew up there.

We’re going to have another (smaller) murder mystery as a going away party for Clare.* While that will be nostalgic and new at the same time, I also think it’s a sort of funeral. Not necessarily in the morbid sense, but in the celebrating the joys of a life now passed sense. No matter where our lives lead after we move out, Clare and I simply won’t be the same. The house has become a metaphor for how we used to be.

I know it’s sappy. Believe me, I wonder myself “Whence all this sentimentality, tough guy?” Regardless of my resistance, it is difficult to not be very sad in the next few months. I told Clare once, and it still holds true, that *she* is the only place I have ever really considered home. But with her leaving, I guess I was going to cling a little bit to this house as a reminder. But I get neither.

The practical side of me knows I should move into a small place close to my job. And I will. I can put away money for the first time in my life and get myself stable enough to earnestly pursue my goals. See? I really did grow up in that house and now I’m leaving it to make my life. Call it arrested development, but I’m getting to that “leaving for college” moment only now.

*If you don’t get an invite, please don’t feel badly. We have to fit in a lot of Clare’s friends who could not attend last time, so the list is smaller and more exclusive. It is a going away party, after all.