Two Bags of Chocolate & Two Boxes of Ice Cream Bars

Tonight at the grocery store, I picked up two bags of Reese peanut butter cup minis and two boxes of strawberry shortcake ice cream bars. I rolled my eyes far too many times than appropriate at the check-out line (which, in my defense, was wayyyy too long of a wait and would have been much shorter if the check-out BOY stopped looking over at me) and I ordered an iced latte (decaf!) on my way out. I am short on patience and none too pleasant to be around. I'll be the first to admit that. 

I'm moving. On Sunday. And I have some large work deadlines coming up the next two Fridays. I wanted summer to be about enjoying the late sunsets and popsicles during lazy Saturday afternoons. I should know better than to make plans. Life always has something else in mind. 

More important than my punk attitude and stress-induced bad habits is how incredibly grateful I am that, sometimes, life doesn't go the way I planned. I'll say that again. I am so grateful things did not work out the way I planned. 

I am moving. On Sunday. Into a house full of people that I already enjoy having in my life. It is not often I can walk into a house full of people and feel as at ease as I did last night. (Yes, they asked me to come over and hang out before I even move; they are that awesome.) Everything I felt after the first time I met them still stands. They make me want to pull on a pair of sweatpants and join them for a movie marathon. Or put on a skirt and head out for a drink. (Which I wish I could have done last night.) My guard comes down easier with them; I can already feel that. 

There have only been a few times in the past that I have warmed up to a group of people this quickly. A house on Main Street in college that housed my soon-to-be best friends and, almost ten years later, houses so many of my favorite memories. And a house in the East End of Portland, Maine where I learned to play Apples to Apples and later, when we all moved in together, how to play a few terrible notes on the guitar. And so much more. 

I never hung anything on the walls of the place I am in now. I never really settled into it. Most of my things live in a state of permanent "packed". I've slept on an areobed (I'll correct you if you call it an air mattress because I have some fake pride) for the past six months, and I came up with every reason possible (logical and illogical) not to purchase a real bed. I wish I could say I knew (of the psychic talent type) that I would be moving sooner than planned, but really I just knew (of the traditional type) that things here were not great and I might move sooner than expected. Mostly, though, I am stubborn in my independence and I didn't want to need help if I did move. 

I'll pack everything up in my CRV on Saturday night and make two trips on Sunday. I moved down here by myself with one car load, so I can certainly move out in two. *fingers crossed* I like to joke that I love my CRV because I can sleep in it if necessary. (Note: I now think twice about who I tell this to and when I say it.) This statement holds stories, but at its core, it really means that my CRV offers me independence by allowing me to be dependent on it. (I'll unpack that statement another day, or, perhaps, just tell you the stories...)

I'm confessing these things - my bad habits, obnoxious attitude, failure to settle, independence taken too far, independence based on dependence - because they are all wrapped up in this utter delight I have for moving to a new place. The people I have warmed up to quickly in the past have taken care of me over the years, have cared about me over the years. 

I let them. 

And I want to do that again.