Moving

A thin layer of dust had covered the handle. When was the last time I opened this drawer? I thought, running my finger over the dust and drawing a smiley face. It has been over a week since I stayed in my bedroom, and it’s no secret. My clothing lies in unkept piles and my objects of no importance are strewn hither and yon in the frenzy I create when I’ve visited briefly the last few weeks. I looked around at my room and wondered at what point a room is no longer mine, but just a memory: a snapshot of what was once considered wholly mine and is now more of a place holder in the timeline of change.

I’ve decided that I will be moving in with the Boyfriend. The Musician is now going to be the Roommate. Now that a date is chosen (sept. 1st for the official move-in) I’m in limbo. My stuff is in two different places and I am reminded of when my parents were divorced and I had to carefully plan where I would have my stuff during the week. If I left a textbook at my Dad’s on the West Side of Manhattan, it was a major pain-in-the-ass to go back over there and get it before heading to my Mother’s on the East Side. I always kept a backpack packed with papers, books, special bras or underwear I wanted to wear in case I wanted it and couldn’t easily get to it until Monday next week. Now, 15 years later, I’m finding myself in a very similar situation. Slowly, the piles of my stuff are accumulating at his apartment and every time I return to my room I need to carefully choose what stuff I want to take with me and have just in case I want it later.

I’ve never lived with a boyfriend before. The idea of coming back to an apartment that is only occupied with someone I love to see and then get naked around makes me excited. My whole life I’ve shared a space with other people: Mom, Dad, Sister, room mates, visitors, etc. that I’ve lived with out of necessity. This time, I’m sharing my space with someone who is carefully chosen and selected out of a pool of worthy candidates and is not only living with me, but sharing a bed with me! We’ll have to navigate groceries, rent, saving for that special piece of furniture, travel, and the occasional disagreement. He’ll be family, friend, lover, room mate, and guardian all in one! What a concept!

Our stuff. Our home. Our dirt. Our food. “Ours” rings through my head every time I come back to My room and look at the stuff sitting unused and covered in neglect. This is what grown-up’s do, so I’m told, yet I can’t help feeling like I did at 13 when I caravanned my worldly goods around on my back and made the best out of two very different spaces to live in. I’m in limbo until the 1st, dreaming about a world where almost all things are combined and a place to call “home” is not necessarily a place, but the person I will be building it with.

August 10, 2013 at 4:37 pm by Natalie Allen