The Over-Educated Nympho

I have been packing and freaking out and whining and packing some more. My friend Barbie totally called me out on my eminent panic attack and insisted on coming over to help. My little brother (who is freakishly big and strong, so weird to see him turn from a total goob into someone kinda hot) drove in tonight and helped as well. At this time tomorrow I’ll be in my new grown-up apartment, the one I want to make a nice place to live, not just somewhere to crash and store all my crap.

When I moved one year ago it was triumphant but a little sad because I was moving on account of a break-up. This time there is nothing tainting the move. Today when I went to sign my lease I finally felt that moment of glory I had been expecting so many times before this, the one of pride when the leasing agent asks “are you the only one signing the lease?” For the first time I said “Yes. Just me.” No roommate, no boyfriend, no mother as a guarantor. Just me.

Now as I look at my living room filled with stacks of boxes, I think about how far I’ve come since I moved into this apartment. As Stockton reminded me, it will be a glorious moment when I finally sit down in my new apartment on my first night alone and take it all in, with a glass of red wine and a bag of Oreos sitting on a box in front of me. Although I still don’t know what I want, I’m in a much better place now than I was one year ago, and you know for damn sure I’ll be drinking to that on Sunday night.