We have gotten rid of almost everything now. Every day I take about ten books down and place them in front fo the building and hope someone will take them. So far almost every book has “sold” I am thrilled not to have to throw them away but have been surprised at many of the books that have found new homes. Most of the novels seemed like good candidate, but who knew that books about Russian peasants in the 18th century, Kant’s Critique of Judgment, or really dry literary theory would be picked up as well.

Today I sat in my much emptied apartment and cried as if my first love had left me. I have lived in New York for some 15 years. I leave NY in the fall, the same season in which I arrived to go to Sarah Lawrence. I do want to go, so why does this feel so sad?