Monday I moved out of my home of eighteen and a half years. I would claim that I had the same room for that amount of time, but I moved out of it for a few months when I was four or five for a little while. They didn’t let me stay in the room upstairs because I had a nasty sleepwalking habit that apparently made stairs dangerous (though I could totally traverse them in the dark, asleep with no problem).

This move has been a long time plan of mine. I’ve known where I was going to move for college for a couple of years now, so it’s no surprise. The real surprise is how calmly I’m taking it.

The last time I did anything particularly large in terms of my geographic position was the summer after my sophomore year in high school. I went on tour with the performing arts department. Let’s just say that I don’t agree with travelling so much. I don’t sleep and I don’t eat and I just pick a song that I like and sing it over and over in my head…

I’m not even kidding. I don’t focus on anything, I don’t accomplish things, and I would much rather stay at home… Yet I’m so calm about this. It’s weird. It’s almost like I’m not really living somewhere else now, it’s just like I’m hanging out at someone else’s house and I’ll be going home any time. This is probably a bad thing, seeing as I’m really ignoring my problem living other places and pretending that I’m not, but I guess I can get away with it until the reality hits me.

Hopefully, reality “hitting me” won’t interfere with the job that I recently obtained. It’s taken me two and a half years to finally get one… I’m not going to lie, it’s pretty fun. I like working for money.

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