Our landlord is showing our apartment this weekend. It’s fitting that this be our last apartment (!?!), since it’s without a doubt my favorite. This space is basically the apex of apartment living — enormous, classy, landscaped backyard, two bay windows (one with a window seat), perfect location, bargain price, nice neighbors, claw foot tub, etc etc etc.

I’m having some issues with letting go of the place. Even though our landlord is doing a perfectly capable job of showing it, I keep feeling like I should be finding the new tenants, since I’ve been living here and I know how everything works and just who the right people would be to move in. I want to leave a little care-and-feeding guide for the new tenants, letting them know that the hot water is ridiculously hot (”baby-killing temperature,” I’ve called it) and that the taps are reversed in the kitchen. I want to show them the best way to deal with the complex shower configuration, and which outlets don’t work. Naturally, the new tenants will learn all these things without my help.

I think I’m projecting a little bit. As we prepare to move into a house we own, I’m finding myself madly grasping at this slightly run-down place we rent. If forced to armchair analyze myself, I would hazard a guess that the apartment is starting to represent my 20s.