Tonight will be my first night in my new house. My bed is assembled, my TV is hooked up, and my boxes are just waiting to be unpacked. I can't wait.
I'll admit, sleeping in a new house is never easy for me; I hear every little creak and click in the house, thinking for sure it must be a burglar. I see shadows on the walls, not sure of where they're coming from but assuming they must be ghosts. I'm a scaredy cat. But my excitement is far outweighing any fears I may have.
I'm going to set up my stereo and blast my music. I'm going to organize my bathroom. I'm going to put away the very few kitchen items I use. I'm going to wash my bed sheets and my summer clothes. I'm going to decide where to put all of my furniture. I'm going to run around the house. Maybe I'll have a glass of wine. Maybe I'll be naked. Who knows? No one will...And that's the point. Tomorrow morning, I'm going to wake up, have a cup of coffee and watch TV, knowing I don't have to talk to anyone until I leave the confines of the house.
I'm already looking forward to the springtime...Not just because it means I'll finally be able to abandon my wool coat, but because I can't wait for the snow to melt in the backyard, allowing the pool to peek through. I can't wait for summer, when the pool is completely revealed, and I can swim at midnight if I want.
When I first moved out of my parents' house, I had this sinking feeling, like I wasn't going to like it out on my own. I was scared - And not of ghosts and burglars. Of failing. Of not being capable enough to survive. Of starving to death because I can't cook. Of poverty. Of having to move home one day. But I did survive, and I didn't starve. I loved it. And the prospect of moving back home felt like someone had stolen my success.
I had a rough October and November of 2004. One of my closest friends pass away, my boyfriend and I broke up, I was forced to spend an ungodly amount of money on my car, and I had to leave a beautiful home that I loved - and all of the independence it afforded me - and move back in with my parents. I don't mind the idea of being with my mom and dad. They are truly wonderful and amazing. I knew they weren't going to treat me like a child. I knew they'd let me do as I wished. But when I got there, I didn't feel very in-control. At a time when what I desired most to prove to myself that I could make it on my own - meaning in my own house and single - I was back in my old bedroom, where a giant Winnie the Pooh started at me from across the room, reminding me that I was back at square one. I knew I wouldn't be there long, and I actually enjoyed being there, but I would just prefer to be on my own.
So when the time to move back out drew near, visions of a huge kitchen, hardwood floors, a wet bar, a screened-in porch, and a spot in a garage danced in my head. I couldn't wait to call it all my own. There was no question any longer that I was capable.
So here it is, my re-entry into the world as an independent 24 year old single girl. And I'm all aflutter.