Well, here I am. Blog land again. It's October 1st, and I am in my "new" bedroom in my "new" town. I've actually been here lots before, and so on the surface, it seems nothing has changed. But in fact, lots has.
My address is now different. My family is now relocating to Minnesota. My stuff has been sorted, tossed, packed, stored, and some hauled here.
It's weird when you look at yourself one way and then, when you get right down to it, look in the mirror and see a contradiction.
For example, I like, at least in my head, new things. I like spontaneous trips to weird places and interesting events. It's part of what makes me love Chicagoist work so much. Zelda symphony? Sure! Yurts at Union Station? There! Dia de Los Muertos walk? Cool beans! If you caught me on a day I wasn't working (now I'm a freelancer so that's easier to do?) and you said "Hey, hop in the car, let's go somewhere! adventure!" I'd probably do it.
But...I also like routine. I get a little neurotic if I don't know the next 3 turns. I hate when there's weeks on end where I don't have plans. If there needs to be food in the house but I'm not sure when we're going grocery shopping, it's gonna drive me just a bit batty. I'd rather say "tomorrow" and then cancel tomorrow than say "when we get to it" and wonder. That's not everyone, that's me. And it's weird to me, because I loathe feeling like I'm in a rut, too, though I rut myself sometimes.
But here we are, and nothing is the same. The family I've shared a house with for the past 6 years is going 7 hours north, I'm living in the town I lived in for my high school years again, and...what?
I need to find a new path. I'm starting to freelance write, but I need to figure out how to spin up enough to live.
I'm in a serious, adult, long-term relationship. I...am not sure how to serious, adult, long-term relationship. People think I'm joking when I say that, but it's true. I know how to be marginally important to a liar, I know how to love with all my heart and have blinders on to reality, but so far I haven't done exactly this before. I don't know how to be flawed, be accepted, improve, partner except for things I parrot from those people I feel like have it together. And it's hard. And it's weird, and I fail more than I wish I did. As I said last entry, way more last month than I wanted.
I want to stop adulting right now, put on my super beat-up Up pajama shirt, my snowflake pants, get some snacks and watch my tornado shows for a few days. Like I've done after breakups or hard times. Just pull in to the shell and hide from life for a while. Is that weird? This should be a happier occasion, right? I mean, to everyone else's eye, what's the issue?
I guess it's having nowhere to go. It's removing safety nets. It's knowing you have to make this work because if you don't...well...you're kinda screwed. I always drove myself everywhere when me and my friends went out so I had an escape route, and if I felt uncomfortable I could just leave. This is me putting the keys on the table and giving that up, I guess. And it's a little scary.
That's not to say I'm not happy. It's not to say I don't feel good about the decision. I feel like I really have an other half. We can dance in the kitchen, and we did today. We can create a themed month, like "Scary Movie October" and then go for the gusto. We can carefully create a list of all the shows we want to watch and then use a random number generator to pick what tonight's flavor is. We can make creme brulee because it seems like something we feel like doing at 2 am because we're bored. My cat can stick her coned up, silly face in his face and meow at him loudly, and he'll meow back. It's a good thing.
I think I just need some time to put the books back on the shelves, is all I'm saying.
Maybe friends don't understand me to be an introvert, and that term is so overused now that I feel like eyes are rolling out of faces, but I really do need "me" time to recharge and feel safe. I need escape routes. I need quiet voices sometimes, and places I can run to.
I loved that L shaped bedroom I just moved out of. The queen bed tucked away around a corner so I could sleep in privacy, even with the door open. I loved the big third floor windows, east facing, and the way that on weekends, the sun would warm me awake sometimes. I loved my stupid overstuffed loveseat and my 330 lb monstrosity of a big screen tv. It was like my own studio apartment, but I also had family I could count on downstairs. I had my mom to talk to and ask for advice from and my grandma to adventure with, hug, and who would hold my hand when things sorta sucked.
So as much as I look forward to the new, and I'm excited...knowing that's all different now? It feels a little scary, if I'm being honest. And right now, I am.
And if that sounds childish, or insecure or stupid? Well...so be it.
I'll be out of the cocoon soon enough, and hopefully my wings will dry and I'll be a whole new animal.
