I am 27 years old. I have lived in 26 different houses/apartments that I remember. My current apartment I have lived in for 4 years and this is the longest I have ever lived anywhere. This dawned on me today as I was sitting staring at a painting Emily did when we had first moved in. It still hangs up as a reminder to me of how much has changed since then. Now I am starting to understand why I am so attached to my little home, as inconveniently located as it may be. It is my sanctuary, it is someplace I know I can count on to be exactly what I need. And often it is the only thing predictable in life that I have a certain degree of control over. Or, I did, until my mother moved in last August. Since then I have had a serious lack of personal space, and even less quiet in my life.
I am happy to say that tonight we talked. She asked one more time if I was sure I didn't want to move away from here and get a new place with her and I told her, yes, I was. And then she started looking online. She will be moving out by August. I feel a huge relief wash over me about this. I don't want to see a lack of space ruin what I feel is a really good relationship with my mom.
No comments:
Post a Comment