All my sweatshirts and skirts and jackets are hanging in the furthermost corner of the closet. The giant tupperware containers I bought 2 days ago are nestled perfectly under my bed and full of my shoes. My dresser drawers are full and organized. My laundry bag is starting to fill up. My journals are in the short bookshelf at the foot of my bed. My books are an armslength away from my computer just outside the bedroom door. My shampoo bottles are starting to show empty space just below the line of the lid. My tube of toothpaste is starting to have a 2-dimensional feel about it.
I have a half-eaten green pepper in the upstairs fridge, right next to an egg carton missing two eggs. My boxes of cereal have empty space when I shake them. My bananas are starting to spot with age. The piece of twisted plastic keeping my bag of bread fresh keeps lengthening as my bread supply shrinks. It's my turn to do the dishes tonight and I used the smaller skillet to make scrambled eggs for lunch; it's lying in the right sink soaking in warm water, next to Andrea's lunch dishes.
One of my friends dropped me off at class this morning. I timed my trek back, involving a walk from CSCC campus to the bus stop downtown, and then another walk up the street to my new home. I did it in a 45 minute minimum, which means what I've made myself available for at work is perfect. When walking home from work yesterday I stopped and listened to a marching band practice in the field mere blocks from my new abode. I loved the way the sound of the drums echoed off the faces of the houses back at me when I continued down my street.
Monday night was a fabulous church meeting. Afterwards I got into a long, but good, conversation with Brian, Dave's roommate (but then again, there are no such things as short conversations with that guy). I relished the feeling of being able to finish that conversation naturally without having to check the time as it ticked by because my parents were expecting me home by 11:30.
I still have post-move-out damage control I'm responsible for back at both of my parents' homes but I wanted to feel physically and mentally settled before I came back to break out the elbow grease. I wanted to own a solid step of independence before I came back to gather up a few forgotten things and box up some unnecessary items and clothing. I wasn't sure what it would look like, but now I'm starting to recognize it and am hoping to go back and start cleaning tonight, and maybe even have dinner with my mother and stepdad if they don't go out for the evening. I talked to her for the first time since Sunday; I liked listening to her voice. It quavered and almost broke, but you could tell she was happy for me, proud of me.
Looking around I can now identify what it is I wasn't sure of but wanted to see. I see it in the half-eaten pepper and the tupperware containers full of shoes. I see it in the empty space in my cereal boxes and shampoo bottles. I can feel it in the way I sit on the couches eating Pringles and chocolate-covered espresso beans. I can feel it in the way my body relaxes under my covers at night. I've been able to take this space I've been provided and make it feel like home, making it mine in the simple fact that I've been using it. I am happy here.
I have a half-eaten green pepper in the upstairs fridge, right next to an egg carton missing two eggs. My boxes of cereal have empty space when I shake them. My bananas are starting to spot with age. The piece of twisted plastic keeping my bag of bread fresh keeps lengthening as my bread supply shrinks. It's my turn to do the dishes tonight and I used the smaller skillet to make scrambled eggs for lunch; it's lying in the right sink soaking in warm water, next to Andrea's lunch dishes.
One of my friends dropped me off at class this morning. I timed my trek back, involving a walk from CSCC campus to the bus stop downtown, and then another walk up the street to my new home. I did it in a 45 minute minimum, which means what I've made myself available for at work is perfect. When walking home from work yesterday I stopped and listened to a marching band practice in the field mere blocks from my new abode. I loved the way the sound of the drums echoed off the faces of the houses back at me when I continued down my street.
Monday night was a fabulous church meeting. Afterwards I got into a long, but good, conversation with Brian, Dave's roommate (but then again, there are no such things as short conversations with that guy). I relished the feeling of being able to finish that conversation naturally without having to check the time as it ticked by because my parents were expecting me home by 11:30.
I still have post-move-out damage control I'm responsible for back at both of my parents' homes but I wanted to feel physically and mentally settled before I came back to break out the elbow grease. I wanted to own a solid step of independence before I came back to gather up a few forgotten things and box up some unnecessary items and clothing. I wasn't sure what it would look like, but now I'm starting to recognize it and am hoping to go back and start cleaning tonight, and maybe even have dinner with my mother and stepdad if they don't go out for the evening. I talked to her for the first time since Sunday; I liked listening to her voice. It quavered and almost broke, but you could tell she was happy for me, proud of me.
Looking around I can now identify what it is I wasn't sure of but wanted to see. I see it in the half-eaten pepper and the tupperware containers full of shoes. I see it in the empty space in my cereal boxes and shampoo bottles. I can feel it in the way I sit on the couches eating Pringles and chocolate-covered espresso beans. I can feel it in the way my body relaxes under my covers at night. I've been able to take this space I've been provided and make it feel like home, making it mine in the simple fact that I've been using it. I am happy here.
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~Nate~