Filed under: College, Uncategorized | Tags: changes, college, moving out, summer, transitions
In three weeks, I will be moving into my own apartment.
There will be no more three AM fire alarms, leading to an evacuation mission of one hundred and thirty seven, nor will there be a friendly little Asian woman who I greet in the morning as she cleans the community bathroom and empties the trash.
It will be a significant day for many reasons. For those of you who know me, you know that I have been waiting for this day for a long time. Years, really. Maybe it was initially an act of pure defiance. Then again, I am stubborn and young and have a hell of a mind of my own. But it has evolved into a more positively-motivated endeavor. It is my best attempt to get what I want while also looking for a way to improve my relationship with my family. Hopefully, moving into my own place will signify a new chapter in my black sheep role–perhaps I will move back toward the grey sheep. It will also signify that I made it through my first year of college. Something which still shocks me.
This year has gone from bad to worse to Ok, I can handle this. It’s been two or three moments of blissful happiness, accompanied by endless sleepless nights of discontent, long afternoon naps alone in my twin sized bed, and phone calls home begging for a taste of happiness. Yet somehow, I’ve managed.
In fact, I have come to a point where I am relatively content with my existence here. It is a little less monotonous, though very oriented toward academics, trying to find time to sleep, and eating meals alone. But I am okay with that. Sometimes that is the hardest part about adjusting to anything–of course it’s not what I am really looking for– but I have to shut up and take it.
It could be a lot worse.
Forrest Gump was wrong. Life is not a box of chocolates. Life is a pantry full of random ingredients, and life is what you make of it. At the beginning of the year, I would argue the meal was none other than ‘mystery mush.’ Thankfully, my culinary skill has improved enough to serve peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. You get sick of them day after day, but every once in a while, it is so much more delicious than you were expecting.
So what will this apartment/living on my own experience bring me? Well, it might get lonesome. I anticipate that, but I am very good at dealing with an excessive amount of solitude. I am sure there will be days when I am angry about having to pay rent, or listen to my roommate have sex in the room next door, or that I have no more food left to eat for the week… and it’s Tuesday. But I think there will also be a lot of good. I am sure I will love being able to traipse in and out without warning, permission or expectations. I will love my short walk to the Falmouth Heights Beach. I will love that the Dairy Queen is an even shorter, arguably more tempting, walk around the corner. I will love that I can live in my own filth and no one will bitch that I need to clean my room (although something tells me I will clean it on my own, more often than before.) I can’t wait to bake constantly. Let’s be honest–I just can’t get enough of it.
With no real certainty can I predict what will go down living in my own apartment. But I really like that there is no sneak preview.
We will see what happens, and hopefully things turn out well. (Is there any reason for them not to?) I know I have the ingredients to make a cake in this pantry, and I have made cakes before (although not one’s with crazy liquers and a dash of cinnamon like this recipe calls for)… So it should be okay. I’m a baker. I will figure it out.
In three weeks, I will have fulfilled 90% of the credentials of a full fledged adult. It’s scary, in theory, but I am really excited. Bring me my wooden spoon!
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