Moving on

I'm surrounded by boxes right now as we move out of my house I've lived in for 22 years. I mean (almost) everyone moves out of the home they grew up in, almost everyone's parents eventuallly sell and move on. But the fact that this move is coinciding almost exactly with the end of my childhood sort of has me even more nostalgic than I would be normally. That and I hate packing.

My brother was able to pack up his room in an hour, about as long as it took my dad to gather this things when he moved out 5.5 years ago. It took me days, over the course of weeks, just because I procrastinated and agonized over every decisions. Reading each journal I wrote five pages in- seeing how much changed and how much stayed the same.Deciding if I should be packing the zilllions of pens One of the hardest decisions-i kid you not- were the Real World: Behind the Scenes books. Eventually, I decided as much as reading about who was the laziest person in RW Chicago was not worth the space in a box.

And yesterday these neighbors I never met came by qith their adorable six year old daughter is going to take my 19 year-old furniture. She's one of those naturally happy children who is going to have a good life, barring any external tragedy. She was SO excited about all the pink furniture she is inheritting. As I handed her every pink mirror and picture frame I could find, her eyes lit up. She got just as excited when I told her she now possessed the pink version of DJ and Stephanie's furniture in Full House (before the redecoration). I didn't mention that unlike the Tanners, we didn't have some random relative come in and redecorate, so my room has been pretty much stuck in time for years. But anyway, it made me happy that this delightful child would get so much joy out of my childhood.


And even though I'll be moving on the an nyc apartment tba, and my mom's moving five minutes away and this is a natural, healthy, moving on moment, it's just weird that in less than a week my house won't be my house anymore