If you don’t feel like reading another chapter of Chicken Soup for the Dramatic Girl’s Soul, look away. You’ve been warned.

Move out weekend was exhausting.  It’s only been a few hours, but I’m already feeling homesick for my apartment (I’m such a baby).

When I got home earlier on Sunday, I unpacked a bit, then did the only thing I knew would help temper some of the sting.  I beelined it to the kitchen and got to work.

I’d be lying if I said that handing over my keys earlier today was easy.  The hard part wasn’t that I was moving home, or what was to come, but it was what I had taken away from that dingy, loud, happy 4 bedroom apartment on Lexington Ave.(and 81st St. before that, aaaand this little thing called college before that). I am so incredibly grateful for my friends, my sisters, who were there next to me as we baked funfetti cakes for every birthday, watched SNL and perfected our imitations, danced before the party started, listened as I complained about my hard day at work, held my hand through breakups, and knew me better than I knew myself.  I can’t believe I got so lucky to have met the girls who would so gracefully morph with me through some of the most awkward, challenging, drunken and blissfully happy moments I’ve ever had.

I’m not quite sure how it happened, but I am so glad I stumbled into these girls’ arms.

(Contrary to the tune I’ve been singing for the past week, I will not be renaming the blog Whomp Whomp. Give a girl some time to wallow. Regularly scheduled dry humor and sarcasm to return soon.)

 I’m putting this weepy girl to bed.  Full weekend recap events to come! Night, friends.