Moving requires cleaning. This is one thing that has been reiterated in my mind multiple times this past week. Everything has gone from the apartment to the house. The distance that separates them is a mere 5 miles (maybe). Still, I wonder how I acquired so much junk. I made at least 10 trips going back and forth due to poor resources for transportation (both car and rubbermaid containers). I often resorted to stuffing the shopping bags full of candleholders, fans, hoodies, jewelry boxes, and anything else I couldn't carry. My mom dropped off the car, as she said she'd take Binford on a walk from my apartment back to the house (little did she know it would take over an hour and a half, when really it should've taken her about thirty-five minutes- most likely due to the sniffing and peeing on Binford's part).
I packed the car, for the most part, by myself. My little ones and select helpers aided one Sunday before the mandatory move-out date. Load by load, my room was not my own anymore, neither of them. I packed everything into my light apple-green room where no one had lived except for the weevils that infested my desk (but that's another story). Brittney would come to nearly-empty-apartment room and say, "Everyone is leaving me." Though 2 roommates remained, and one of them was one of her bestfriends, I can understand the fear. We're in a transitionary period, students coming and going, friends serving missions, transferring schools, leaving for the summer, going on studies abroad.
Where is the security? Perhaps in the lunches my mom makes me before I go to work, or making me tell her where I'm going whenever I leave, my dad helping me figure out what's wrong with my airport wireless, my mom forcing me to eat family dinner ("or else I'll have to do the dishes), and the locked doors at all hours of the day. Maybe it's Heidi coming into my room with her bathrobe, bath towel, and Wuthering Heights waiting for Hillery to bring epsom salt so she can scrub off her newly acquired coat of paint, but instead falling asleep on my bed while I read the oh-so-scandalous, oh-so-entertaining Bridget Jones the Edge of Reason. My bank account is suddently full of money while not having to pay rent, maybe it's the use of a car whenever I need it, my mom coming in for five million wakeup calls. Though my room isn't in complete order, it feels like home again. I miss the walls, seeing the trees through my window, letting the light shine in. I look forward to having time to read and finish books I want to read, watching movies I've wanted to watch for months, playing and not feeling guilty about it. The summer is a lovely time.
