Yesterday I got the keys to my new apartment, and promptly got severely nauseous. While there’s a stomach bug going around, I think it has more to do with the concept of permanency than any genuine illness. I’ve always had a dislike of putting down ties; there’s no tragic backstory to explain my distaste toward commitment. I just don’t like pending obligations (or yard work).
While an apartment with a year-long lease barely seems to be commitment at all, for me, it’s pretty big. I’ve spent a lot of my life running around with my belongings in a cardboard box, and purchasing Real Furniture literally weighs me down. It’s exciting, sure, but it means that for a while: here I am.
My list of places, unabridged: Huntsville, AL to Dallas, TX
Dallas, TX to Huntsville, AL
Huntsville, AL to Fredericksburg, VA
Fredericksburg, VA to Huntsville, AL
Huntsville, AL to Tuscaloosa, AL
Tuscaloosa, AL to Lake Buena Vista, FL
Lake Buena Vista FL – move three times within LBV, and then: to Davenport, FL
Davenport, FL to Huntsville AL (and move three times once in Huntsville)
…and that’s not counting my moves to and from England.
I’m phenomenal at having my foot half-out the door. I function best with an escape route. It almost certainly trickles down to my interpersonal relationships, but I’m not drunk or feeling chatty, so I’ll leave it at that. Bottom line is, I’ve bought real, wooden, solid furniture. I’m attempting to put down roots. I’m going to be a potato, guys.
But I still wouldn’t mind moving to Santa Fe.