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General update: I'm moving again, out of the apartment, in to who knows where.
As mentioned in passing before, I'm moving again. My parents are no longer paying for the apartment where I've been living these past months, and so I'm moving out. Where I'm moving in to, on the other hand, I'm not yet sure. The guinea pigs, thank goodness, have a home: they're staying at the boy's house, and are already here and set up, safe in their cage in the would-be-dining room off of the kitchen. They are my primary concern. My stuff sort of has a home: the various boxes of books will be stored between Devon's house and my parents's house. I have no idea where my computer, desk, and bed are going.
Primarily because I have no idea where I'm going. In many ways I feel like an inconvenient piece of furniture, like my queen bed: bulky, hard to transport, inconvenient to store, a problem to be shuffled from house to house before finally being dumped on a sidewalk for the trash collectors.
Not a very optimistic view, to be sure.
Devon thinks I should live with my parents, namely because this isn't his house (it's his parents house, and the brothers live here too) and so not his space to house me in. That raises all sorts of questions like "why do we not have an apartment together" and the short answer is: we can't, right now. Who knows what my parents are thinking—I suppose I'll find out tomorrow, when I sit down and talk with them. In the meanwhile, I'm packing and cleaning, which is exhausting work. I'm trying to weed out everything that I don't need, but it's difficult work, as my books are not disposable. If I ever have to see another moving box it will be too soon, which is tough luck, and I'll be living out of them for an indeterminate amount of time. I'm also crying a lot, and trying to decide in a matter of days what I want to do with the rest of my life.
I don't want to do anything.
It's making the decision making process somewhat more difficult.
A lot of this is very negative, and no fun to read about as well as difficult to comment upon. That's fine. I'm not expecting advice or feedback, and I know that where appropriate I have some sympathy. I have select friends helping me as they can, and I have the boy, doing more work than anyone should ever have to do for another human being. I have the guinea pigs, who love me. I have my parents, though I'm not sure quite what that means just now. The point is that I don't expect much more. I'm merely writing this down to explain my rather sporadic posting as of late, and to explain why it may continue to be so. I'm anxious. I'm very depressed. I'm busy and stressed and at a loss, and somewhat homeless.
Just so as that you know.
Primarily because I have no idea where I'm going. In many ways I feel like an inconvenient piece of furniture, like my queen bed: bulky, hard to transport, inconvenient to store, a problem to be shuffled from house to house before finally being dumped on a sidewalk for the trash collectors.
Not a very optimistic view, to be sure.
Devon thinks I should live with my parents, namely because this isn't his house (it's his parents house, and the brothers live here too) and so not his space to house me in. That raises all sorts of questions like "why do we not have an apartment together" and the short answer is: we can't, right now. Who knows what my parents are thinking—I suppose I'll find out tomorrow, when I sit down and talk with them. In the meanwhile, I'm packing and cleaning, which is exhausting work. I'm trying to weed out everything that I don't need, but it's difficult work, as my books are not disposable. If I ever have to see another moving box it will be too soon, which is tough luck, and I'll be living out of them for an indeterminate amount of time. I'm also crying a lot, and trying to decide in a matter of days what I want to do with the rest of my life.
I don't want to do anything.
It's making the decision making process somewhat more difficult.
A lot of this is very negative, and no fun to read about as well as difficult to comment upon. That's fine. I'm not expecting advice or feedback, and I know that where appropriate I have some sympathy. I have select friends helping me as they can, and I have the boy, doing more work than anyone should ever have to do for another human being. I have the guinea pigs, who love me. I have my parents, though I'm not sure quite what that means just now. The point is that I don't expect much more. I'm merely writing this down to explain my rather sporadic posting as of late, and to explain why it may continue to be so. I'm anxious. I'm very depressed. I'm busy and stressed and at a loss, and somewhat homeless.
Just so as that you know.