This is what I was thinking the night before my closing:
This is it. One of the last nights I’ll be in this house. This night ends an era, and begins a new one. The end of college roommates and non contractual, gentleman’s agreement leases, of Real World situations that eerily mirror reality television. The end of roommate drama and tension and responsibilities. From this point on, all the drama, tension, and responsibility is solely mine.
But, I’ll miss some of those things.
I’m hardly packed, but the move shouldn’t be too difficult. I’ve got a month, and a lot of time to do it in. It’s the beginning of mortgage payments. The beginning of homeownership. The beginning of living by myself–which I believe is going to be the most challenging aspect.
It’s sad, but at the same time, exciting. I don’t know what’s going to happen next. I don’t know how I’ll get internet service. I’ll be roughing it for a while. (Editor’s Note: Notice this sentence immediately follows the one regarding broadband.) Things are going to get crazy before they get back to that altered state of consciousness that I consider “normal.”
I don’t have a place to eat, a place to sit, or even a bedframe in there. It’s all very free form and not under control in the least.
And I guess I’m okay with that. I mean, I’m going to have to be.
The morning of October 4th:
I just put the cashier’s check into an envelope, and the envelope into Stephen King’s On Writing. I guess that’s an appeal for some sort of blessing on his part. Or just a coincidence, since that’s the only book I have in my backpack at the moment. It’s cool, but getting warmer, and I’m waiting for the shuttle to the metro. I’ve had a chick fil a sandwich and a bit of a smoothie from jamba juice. My stomach, for the most part, is settled.
I’m not scared, but a strange calm, a resignation, an acceptance of what I am about to do has come over me. Some think of that as a bad thing. I do not. I think it’s a way for me to believe that it’s not out of control, that all that money I’m spending each month really is going to come back to me. I don’t know for certain. It’s a gamble, like any investment. Unlike every gamble, it’s my home.
Where I live and where I put all of my stuff.
For at least the next five years.
It’s quite a committment. No more packing up and moving at the whims of my once chaotic lifestyle.