One summer, I think when I was a sophomore at UT, I threw everything I had in a storage unit and moved to Wimberley to stay with an Aunt. By the end of that summer, thinking things were going to be fine, I moved into a new place, with a new roommate, and took my chances. Despite it feeling a little like Christmas to have my most treasured possessions returned to me – books and posters, I was in college – things from that point on went horribly, horribly wrong.
Now, facing a similar situation, but at a different stage in my life, I keep having flashbacks. We’ve almost moved all the junk in our garage and things we don’t need out of our place already. We’ve opted for a fully furnished type place in Seattle, so we’re not even taking the art on the walls. I have a lot of “those” things, that writers and comedians alike joke about – I’ll see you next time I move. Packing photos and furniture away is strange. MK keeps having to convince me the place won’t burn down. But more than that, history repeats itself. What if we get up there and MK decides he’s bi-polar, lies, cheats, steals, and goes off the deep end and escapes in a stolen car like that horrible roommate?
Well, maybe I’m overreacting slightly, but I can’t get over how that messed with my head back then. I used to never second guess anyone, or worry about anything. Now this life change has me getting nervous. I don’t like it. I’ll be fine when we get up there, it’s this next month that’s going to take some medication to get through.