The Move

So moving sucks…especially when it’s to your folks’ house. It’s almost depressing enough to make me want to quit my job, move into the basement and make a living selling fake ideas to the high school kids. Almost.

I find myself in this particular living situation because my roommate decided to do something utterly grown up… to get married. As happy as I am for her, that meant I needed to find a new place and though I have a full time job, I cannot afford to live alone in the city that I work. Ok, well at least in a neighborhood I am less likely to be shot. Given the circumstances, I made the decision to move home for the summer, home being the suburbs where I grew up. It’s only temporary and I thought I had come to terms with it, but bringing that first load of boxes up to my old room (still plastered with Beatle posters and an occasional Tiger Beat cover) made me feel uneasy, a bit like a failure.

I am hopeful to find a place by September and that this period at home will just be a temporary blip on my “grown up” life radar. However, as I lie in the tiny twin bed I have slept in since I was 4 (luckily I was a large child so it’s actually quite comfortable), draw the teddy bear curtains closed over my windows and shout a “ g’night” to my Ma, I am filled with warm gooey feelings of nostalgia. Then I suddenly remember I am in my mid twenties, single, have a crappy job, and live at home… and the feeling quickly fades. And on top of everything, on Sunday evenings, I am still not allowed to talk during 60 Minutes.