How Many Men Does It Take To Lift a Woman's Spirit?

From This American Life, 1995. A woman unplugs her toaster, wraps the cord around it, and suddenly her apartment is empty.

I am two weeks away from the big move. Although I have been wanting this move for almost a year - since the day after FW left - I have found that I am unmotivated to get it going. Why?

This is IT. This apartment is the final tie to my marriage - the place we lived together the longest, the place that I came back to after others had not worked out (it was the marriage, and not the venue, that was flawed?). In two weeks, I will live in an apartment that is - for the first time in three years - mine. Fresh. With no memories. Somewhere I cannot picture him in, where he will not be allowed to be seen out of the corner of my eye. I will sleep in a bedroom where no one has been invited, and put my clothes in a closet that is only for me.

And, while I am happy to be making this move, and to leave the 60's cinder block cookie dough beige hell that I have been living in, the thought that this is the final step away from my marriage, and from the person that I thought I loved (and, for perhaps, a brief while, I really did love), gives me pause. What is left of me in this place? And what part of me will I leave behind when I slip the keys under the door?