This house is dirty, but comfortable
I know I probably shouldn't be lounging around JP by myself on my last legitimate day living in Boston, but I just can't help myself. After last night, I should really get a free pass in missing festive, yet casual hangs, something I'm sure I will truly miss as I settle in to life as a rural Vermont-er. I'm scared and ecstatic and apathetic all at the same time. It doesn't feel like a big deal, because it doesn't really feel like it is going to happen. Nothing is packed, by the way. It's just another average evening in the household with dirty laundry in the hamper and belongings strewn about. This generally isn't what moving looks like.
I am trying to visualize what it is going to feel like as I turn my car down my driveway, when we start piling our belongings into the living room, piles of reusable bags and clothes and stuff we haven't organized or looked at in weeks. I am trying to imagine to monumental amount of supplies we will need to buy and the insane amount of work it will take to make this place our home.
I could cry. I really could. I could cry because EVERYTHING is about to change, for real this time. I could cry because it might be so strange and emotional to be in such a different, permanent place. I could cry because Phyllis is leaving home and I don't know if she will like it- or if it is fair to her. I could cry because she has no idea her life is about to change and the injustice of being unable to explain it to her makes me sad. I could probably cry because, as I sit here with nothing packed and my world on the verge, the same goes for me.
I am trying to visualize what it is going to feel like as I turn my car down my driveway, when we start piling our belongings into the living room, piles of reusable bags and clothes and stuff we haven't organized or looked at in weeks. I am trying to imagine to monumental amount of supplies we will need to buy and the insane amount of work it will take to make this place our home.
I could cry. I really could. I could cry because EVERYTHING is about to change, for real this time. I could cry because it might be so strange and emotional to be in such a different, permanent place. I could cry because Phyllis is leaving home and I don't know if she will like it- or if it is fair to her. I could cry because she has no idea her life is about to change and the injustice of being unable to explain it to her makes me sad. I could probably cry because, as I sit here with nothing packed and my world on the verge, the same goes for me.