Saying goodbye (to my apartment) is so difficult.

My title pretty much says it all.

I have lived in my apartment for over 8 months now, and quite frankly, it has been the greatest and fastest 8 months of my life. When I decided to move out of my parents house, I never had so much motivation to do something before...sadly that motivation didn't arrive til AFTER Trinity :( But even though I was now living on my own, and at times money was really tight, I never felt more peaceful. When I left the big sky-blue house with black shutters and a pink trim, there were two parents, only five of the eight other siblings, a neice, a nephew, a dog and two cats. THAT'S 13 LIVING THINGS! Let's just say when it came to privacy....you had none. So I had saved up money for awhile and was now able to afford my own place. It was also very convenient because my new apartment was just a 2-minute drive to work (as opposed to a 22-minute drive) and school was within a 5-minute drive. So the location was perfect! I was 19 at the time, so for my family to have a child move out at such an early age was nearly unheard of.

Over the last 8 months many people have asked me why I would want to spend $500 a month on something that I could actually get for free if I lived with my parents. For the most part, the answer is simple...I can buy ice cream, eat a little of it, and expect the rest of it to be sitting in my fridge when I get home....And it's not just ice cream, it alot of stuff. I tend to be a little OCD when it comes to my stuff. Growing up with 8 other siblings, memorizing the placement of EVERYTHING in my room just came second nature to me. I knew where everything was placed, how it was placed, what the corner of it was pointing towards, the dust (if any) on it, the money in my coin jar, and how tight the cap was on my bottle of pop. So in other words, if you were in my room, I knew you were before you did.
               Another thing I have really come to cherish is the sound of nothing. I know it sounds stupid but now I understand why my mom would rather stay home by herself, with the kids GONE, than go to Hawaii. There was rarely a point in my house that not at least one person was home...at all times. The only complaints I could ever have about my apartment were the fact that the old lady 2 floors beneath me always talked REALLY loud, or that the retardedly loud geese thought it would be a fantastic idea to make their littles walks, eating crap off the ground....right below my bedroom window at 8 o'clock in the morning. Or I guess for about the first week after I moved in, which happened to be in the beginning of February, I couldn't take a shower or turn on the heat without the smoke detector going off. And to this day, I am still confused as to why that happened.

DON'T BE SUCH A BABY!
          My friends and I were having a conversation on the patio of my Starbucks, and there were many of these awesome Starbucks patio nights which I will most likely end up discussing at some point, and one of them jokingly asked me if I ever cried after I moved out (I don't know how that came up, but it did), but yes, I did. On February 1st, after my friend and I packed up their van with all my crap, they headed off to my apartment. Then I said goodbye to my parents, who would only be 20 minutes away, then got into my car. I sat for a second and just looked at my house. Most people, by the way, move many times during their childhood. My family, on the other hand, had moved into my house when I was only 3 months old....So I had lived their my entire life. Then I just started to cry. This cry was no ordinary cry. It was probably the most Bi-Polar cry I've ever experienced. It was filled with much "YES, I'M GONE!".......a little "AWW, THIS IS SAD"........some "I'M GONNA MISS MY MOM!"......and alot of "SHIIIIT! NOW I GOTTA PAY FOR EVERYTHING!". It lasted for about 5 minutes, then I did one of those quick glances where I check to see that nobody just witnessed that horrificly ugly cry. I then pulled down my car mirror, wiped away my tears, said a little prayer, and I was outta there!

The Return of the Jedi
          Now my dad always told me for many weeks after I gathered up enough guts to break the news that his favorite offspring was moving out.....he would say "Now don't go buy a bunch of crap because when you DO move back home, we won't have the space for all your shit." You know, the motivation that just moves your very core. OK, it wasn't that bad and it wasn't said in those very same words, but you get the gist of it. He was actually quite supportive of my move. But I always reassured him that I wasn't coming back....and I honestly had no intention of returning.
          Parents do know best! I am, in fact, moving back home 6 days from today. I am dreading it. I love my family very much, but the thought of moving back home just kills me. Since I have left, my sister and her children have moved out. My older brother moved out. My two female cats both turned into little hoes and were played by the same male pimp-cat, so together they have produced a total of 9 kittens, which are very cute.
                           Now the ONLY reason I am moving back home is because of the money. Not because I can't afford my awesome apartment, but because God has other things in store for me.....possibly in California (I will discuss the Cali stuff later). My apartment has been the source of so many memories with many awesome friends, its been the source of peace and security, and this 8-month apartment is also proof that God loves me. Because the school in California is such a drastic, incredible option for me, I have to at least be able to have the option of going, and living in an apartment does not give me that option. So I am moving back home, saving all the money that I would normally use for my rent. This is the best thing for me and will open up many doors to my future.



To sum up everything in this post: GOD IS GREAT! He gave me an incredible 8 months to grow as a person, in a quiet place. Now He has thrown an even more incredible opportunity at me....but to get to it, I have to move back in to the craziness, called home. Now to end this post....GOD IS da BOMB!