I've grown accustomed to moving. You put your things in a box and you take it somewhere new to unpack it as identically as possible in completely new and different surroundings. But this time it's different. This time seems like forever.
I'm moving into a house. Not an apartment, not a dorm room, but a free standing house with yards and a garage and somehow that feels like a forever kind of thing. It's not that I expect to live there forever, so I don't know why it feels this way. Maybe the real world is playing tricks on me now that the end of my university days are coming to an end.
Is it strange that I feel so attached to these couches that I can't stand to look at anymore? They're ugly, but they're home and they belonged to a home that I loved before that. What if this house doesn't feel whole without them? What if I don't feel whole without them?
This is a new beginning, but not like the others. This one is final and clean. There's no turning back. There's no moving out seamlessly if you hate your roommates. There's no instant connection with your neighbors. There's no turning back to all the memories you made in this university apartment complex.
I have too much stuff, Anna, and I can only get rid of so much with each move. Everything I keep has sentimental value and it doesn't help that I collect too many souvenirs along the way. But I can't complain to you. From Baltimore to the desert to my lovely L.A., you're an expert at moving. If you could move across the country, I can move down the street, right?
I think the garage will be great for painting.