I must have moved in and out of my parents' house about 9 or 10 times since I was 18. Either I was fiercely independent and sponsored my own rent in the dorms or sorority house, or I was coming back home because the semester ended. Once, I was literally abandoned by an ex-boyrfriend of mine. It was his way of breaking up with me by leaving me with dust bunnies and my furniture still in the apartment. My father moved me out in 2 hours. Go Dad! After being on my own for 7 years, I am now living once again at my parents.
My house rented to a very nice couple from the U.K.. Both are physics professors. I handed over the keys to them yesterday. Moving is such a sad experience. Seeing your stuff packed in boxes, watching the movers shrink wrap the couch for storage, and watching "your" house become empty absolutely sucks. On the other hand, it gives great cause to purge. I had a whole Jeep filled with things for charity and 3 garbage cans to the brim with stuff. Even Edgar was depressed and moped around. My fiance always pauses to ask if I am the one who is depressed and moped, but I assure you, it was the dog. He just sat in his bed (which he never does), ears back, and looking forlorn. After one day of this I took him to my parents' to play with the other dogs.
My mother has been a saint through this. She was the one who got the bids from the movers as I was either interviewing in Indy or at work. She was the one who helped me pack in 100 degree heat one solid Saturday. She was the one who came over moving day bright and early with bagels to direct the movers while I ran to a meeting. I owe her the world.
My father has been rather controlling. He saw no reason to move the bed downstairs and that if I was staying at their house I could stay upstairs in the bedroom next to theirs. My brother helped me disassemble the bed and haul it down two flights of stairs as my father watched TV in protest. I now live in the basement. Sure, I have a few wolf spiders to deal with, but I get my own bathroom and my own living area. Another interesting fact is that my pseudo-bedroom is my mom's pilate room so I have one whole wall floor to ceiling mirrors. All I need is a glitter ball and some smooth disco and I think I'd have a set for SNL's The Ladies Man.
My parents knew I would be home more, but they weren't counting on my brother. He apparently moved recently and hates his new place so 9x out of 10 he is hanging out at my parents. We've actually had more family dinners the past few days than we have in years. My delusional fantasy is that he's hanging out more with me before I move, but then I just have to remember a year ago when he moved in with me and it was an utter failure. Delusion.
We'll see what the next 40 days/nights bring. Perhaps I'll bond and appreciate my parents more. Perhaps I'll be wanting to drive to Indy so fast it will make heads spin. What I am hoping is that it will be absolutely the very last possible chance I will ever live at home again.
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