*This is all that will remain after me.
I moved out of my apartment yesterday. I've got ten more days here, but now that I'm living out of my suitcases in the institute's guesthouse, it really feels like the beginning of the end.
Goodbye, gas stove. You were a kasha-boiling and chocolate chip cookie-baking workhorse. Goodbye, window that required masking tape, caulk and strips of furniture foam to keep the drafts out this winter.
Goodbye, Khrushchev–era fridge with the contact paper coming off. I'm sorry I only defrosted your freezer box at the very end of our relationship. I say "relationship" because, for a machine so ugly and disgusting, I really grew to love you.
Goodbye, world's most comfortable fold-out bed/couch. Your winning combination of squishy soft foam cushions and reliably supportive wooden planks has earned a special place in my heart that no future mattress will ever steal.
Goodbye, living room/bedroom/home office/balalaika studio rolled into one. Goodbye, wardrobe with the video game stickers on it. Goodbye, curtain that is all that remains of the world's greatest Draft Dodger. Goodbye, hideous carpet and green wood-print linoleum. Goodbye, sewing machine table-turned-desk.
Goodbye, best views of Taganrog in the whole city. Goodbye, roofs and treetops, park, sea, factory smokestacks, wheat fields, road to Rostov and, on extremely clear days, Rostov itself.
Goodbye, first real apartment.
Also, as today is July 1st: goodbye, Fulbright. We had a good two years.