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Monthly Archives: August 2011

I’m in the middle of packing. I have packed to leave before, but never have I felt the distinct feeling that this house, and especially this room, are no longer mine. They belong to my family, to my childhood, and I love my family, but I really don’t feel like I live here anymore. It’s kind of an odd feeling, going through my childhood things, throwing out some, filing away others, and having the strange experience of visiting something foreign, and revisiting people I once knew- not just friends I used to have who’ve moved or whatever, but myself at various ages. I read the things I wrote and feel strangely disconnected from my past.

My urge is to move forward, and thus to move out. I’m looking forward to going back to college, but most of all, I’m looking forward to a space that is truly MINE, where I don’t feel like the ghosts of my 5 an 15-year-old selves are watching me go through their books, toys, and essays and judging me for what I’ve decided is and isn’t worth keeping. I hear myself as a freshman in high school: How could Mr. Martin give this a B, this is one of the best essays I’ve ever written! And I tell my freshman self that this bullshit doesn’t even deserve a C. I look at my angry, difficult high school past and wonder what I was thinking. I’m only 20, and already I’ve lost my understanding of that age. I suppose that I don’t want to be reminded of it either, because I didn’t like myself at that age and I don’t care for that version of myself now either. I guess, in general, I want to move out so that I can be separate from that period of my life, so that I can really be part of my current period of life. The current period of my life where I get to live with friends my own age, where I get to take care of little band geeks, where I cook and clean for myself, where I play with my bunny, where I can snuggle up with my boyfriend whenever I want.

So I pack up my shoes, my clothes, my dishes, my text books, and I wonder exactly how much of it I’ll need. I don’t really care, though; I just want want to pack up my present and take it away from my past. That’s all I really need.

I’ll be honest- I’m much better with you around. It’s not just that my mood improves, though that’s the understatement of the year. More like my mood blows up into a shimmering explosion of all that is fantastic in the world. Being with you is like watching corgi puppies play with kittens while eating chocolate cake and Tucker’s ice cream while listening to Motown and being told I’ve won the lottery. Yeah, it’s that good. But I digress- that’s not why I’m better with you around, or at least not the sole reason.

You see, I am a much more productive person with you around. Yeah, I go to work and do my best job there… but since I’m not floating through the days knowing that I get to come home to you when I’m done, I’m not as good at being cheerful under stress. And when I’m at home, I look at my disaster of a room and have no inspiration to really deal with it. After all, it may take me forever to find anything I want, but I also don’t do much in my room. I pretty much sleep in here and use my computer, neither of which requires cleanliness. But the place is still a mess and it’s kind of discouraging in a weird way. I suppose my room is making me feel a little inadequate. But I never feel inadequate with you. You make fun of my slob-like ways, and I eventually am inspired to clean and make you happy and impressed with me. It’s hard to feel that way when I hardly see you, you know?

I really shouldn’t complain. I’m going to be seeing you all the time in a month. But it’s difficult while it lasts. I’m glad you exist. And the title of this post? It’s true. I miss you like hell.

I love you.