i spent most of the past 10 years living the “college student” life… it consisted of packing up and moving every other semester. new roommates, new schedules, new surroundings. that way of life also means you are living on little or no money and are not willing to invest in your home… especially since it’s not really yours to begin with. you scrounge for hand me down furniture… a co-worker’s husband’s bachelor couch. an extra twin bed in the tortoise’s room. at some point i broke down. admittedly, i had help with the break down. i had two weeks to move 130 miles.
not only would the scenery and social life change… for the first time in i don’t even know how long i was going to live all by myself. unless you have had 50+ roommates… i don’t know if you can truly understand the exhilaration that statement inspires. so what if my new bedroom was also my new living room. it was all mine. just mine.
i was tired of only having four plates that matched, and silverware that bent while scooping ice cream and triple stacking my books on one undersized bookcase. i was tired of waiting until, well later, to get real appliances and furniture that didn’t look like lincoln logs. so i purchased real furniture… i decorated, i bought kitchen ware from a store that wasn’t target, i had matching towels and dish rags. i even had enough plates to feed 8 people all at once. it was quite a makeover.
i really liked my little home. i even admit i liked the hburg… but i don’t think i really would have liked either if i knew i’d have been there forever.
so less than 10 months later i lay in my bed staring at naked walls where two full bookshelves were. the nakedness exposes nails that were once covered. i am surrounded by a nudity that translates into a tangible emptiness, as if the house knows i’m leaving.