Moving Day

…is not quite here yet, but is coming very soon.

Even when I talk about personal things, lately online I’ve started to avoid going too far into detail. I see friends on Facebook and their friends and sometimes it feels like people air dirty laundry for everyone. On the one hand, even without Facebook or Twitter or the like, we’d still want to tell people about our troubles, but on the other, as I’m getting older I have gotten increasingly uncomfortable with oversharing–and thr fear that I myself too might talk too much about things that are best kept between myself, my family, and close friends. Social media has, for better or worse, made people more confessional. So I tweet about mundane things, but not frequently what I would call more serious.

Something that many people close to me have already know for a while is that for about two years now (a little more at this point in the year, so more like almost three years), I have been in an unhealthy living situation. Physically, I’m fine, but without going into details, things have been unstable, and not in the, “I’m going to my campus dorm for a period of time, coming back, and doing it again” way, but the, “I don’t know if there is going to be a roof over my head.” With it has come a lot of anxiety and discomfort and tension.

It’s not for my lack of trying to leave, but to be honest, even with my savings and the occasional commission or subbing, it’s not enough to sustain for very long. I want to do it on my own, but it is unfeasible, and when my aunts and uncles recommend a course of action, I tend to follow the logic rather than my own wants. Yes, I want to leave. No, I cannot pay to do so for more than two months at most. So I waited and saved my money and hoped that soon, things would change.

And now, they are. By the enormous generosity of my uncle (who I don’t even know how to thank, because it’s such an enormous thing to do), we’re finally moving. I have moved (not counting to and from college) four times, and three of those moves occurred in the course of three years.

Instability is one of the worst things that can happen to a person; it is painful and stressful and exhausting to not feel like there is one place that is yours and that you can return to. Beyond frustrating, even. You start wondering if you’ll ever know what it’s like to not have to pack your belongs at the drop of a hat. You panic, unsure of where you’ll be in a year or six months or two weeks, and worry when the other shoe will finally drop. Will your constant moving affect getting a job or a loan? You don’t know. You become familiar with change of address forms at the post office and updating your information constantly.

So, normally, I hate moving, but I was never supposed to be here in the first place, never planned to stay if I didn’t have to. Packing is a pain and you always realize there’s so much stuff you need to get rid of and boxes are expensive. Transporting everything is awful and sweaty. Unpacking drives me nuts. I hate arranging furniture. Also, while I have great spatial reasoning skills, I have no concept of weight, so I have boxes packed perfectly aside from how heavy they are.

I know I should wait until the deal is closed to start packing, but I can’t help that I already started. I have wanted to leave for so long that I wish I was already gone.

If you enjoyed this post and want to help the “help Jill replace any furniture she gets rid of in an attempt to scale back prior to moving” fund, consider sending a coffee from Ko-Fi.com.
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Author: jillboger

Part time writer. Editor-in-Chief for the Bridge volume 13, former EIC for The Odyssey at BSU. My glasses protect my secret identity.

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