Transitioning

So I’m sort of growing up a little. Not too much, but moving toward that process of becoming sort of possibly maybe independent? That is, leaving my parents’ home.
This is super weird and both scary and thrilling.
I’ve been keeping all these stressors on the back burner and writing angsty poetry instead, and letting out any negative energy by either crying or engaging in said poetry, or ranting about it to various friends and family. More than a few things are bothering me, so what better way to experience emotional release than to write about it in a public forum? (The answer is: there isn’t any.)
Well, first thing’s first. Leaving my childhood home (and my mom’s phenomenal cooking), the quiet burbs, our gorgeous house (that I am only now starting to appreciate), not having to pay for gas most of the time, unlimited hot water and food and not worrying about paying rent on time…yeah, I’m leaving that.
Am I insane?
Why would I choose to abandon the utmost comfort? (I’m spoiled as fuck.)
Why leave when I have everything provided for me, food consistently available at no cost to me, nearby my friends and shopping areas, a 10 minute drive from the beach…why leave?
Yo, guess what, I don’t know.
Except for the tiny fact that I need to grow up already. I need to experience living on my own (plus roommates, I’m not an idiot), having responsibility. Oh, and living with my fam jam isn’t the easiest thing on the planet anymore, seeing as I’ve developed my own opinions over the years (Thanks, Obama) and those viewpoints often don’t mesh with those that birthed me (my parents).
Blah blah blah, Esther, you have it all, stop complaining.
K.
So I’ll move on to the stress that I’m looking forward to – paying bills, and coming home to a place where dinner might not already be prepared for me, to finding parking for a few minutes instead of pulling into my driveway, to more-than-likely arguments with roommates on why we didn’t turn the light off or who ate my yogurt.
I can’t wait. I. Can’t. Wait.
To be able to create a space where I truly feel like I’m coming home, to be able to breathe and relax and think. To be stressed sometimes, yes, but guess what? Everyone around me is going through the same thing and I already have a build-in support system (spoiled again, but with friendship – I’m cool with that).
I’m not complaining (though I might later). I’m happy and excited and stressed and sometimes sad and already homesick. But this is GOOD.

Oh, also, we’re gonna have an insane cat.
Shoot me.

me

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