HOTEL SONG
Not too terribly much to blog about. School is good, and I’m considering a double major more and more as the days go. Work is good. I got a raise last month and I’m pretty close to getting a promotion. Living is good. Brandon and Carrie are all gross and in love, and Bailey didn’t feel good the other day. She expressed that by shitting in my bedroom. But, she’s a dog, so I can’t really fault her. Apparently Travis had pnemonia last week, but he was sweet enough to stay at Libby’s and infect her instead of me. So aside from the headaches and the bug that Dannie, Tk and I seem to pass back and forth, things are pretty good.
Living arrangements for next year are getting figured out.. slowly but surely. Dannie and I drove around and looked at a few places yesterday. I believe we (Tk, Dannie and I) are going on a tour of two places on friday. Hopefully that goes well. Truly, I just want to find somewhere I’m going to be comfortable for the next few years. I’m tired of moving and I just want to be settled. I like it here, really, I do. But I feel like I’m living in a hotel. I haven’t even unpacked. And at this point, why should I? Just so I can pack up again in June? I HATE packing. But I hate feeling like I’m living out of boxes… or in this case, bags. Last time I moved I used garbage bags. So, while I’m adjusting to Ames, I know I’m not as comfortable as I could be. There are certain furniture-things that I need (and want) to feel more at home. I want to feel like I can decorate.. put pictures up, set knick-knacks out.. you know, those kinds of things.
Last night I was talking with Dannie and I came to a horrible realization.. for the second time. When I moved out of my dad’s house in August, I moved out. He changed my bedroom into a guest bedroom. It’s no longer my home. When I go back to Davenport for breaks and weekends, I’m a guest. That is such a strange feeling. And I’m sure that if I went to my dad and told him I wanted to move home again for awhile, it would be different. But right now I feel like I’m in this weird limbo. It’s kind of weird. I feel like I’m a still a kid in so many ways, but I’m not. I’m trying to be financially responsible. I’m trying to stay on top of my school work. I’m trying to take care of myself. By no means am I saying that I’m 100% self-sufficient. If you knew me last year, or even in the past 6 months, you know that I’m very emotional. I try not to talk about my feelings very often.. I don’t really like to feel vulnerable. Duh. Who does? But I would carry around all these feelings until they pretty much exploded out of me, causing me to feel vulnerable, out of control and physically ill. My stomach is so attatched to my emotions. But now, I’m trying not to hide. If I’m feeling depressed or pissed off or upset, I try to just address it and move it. Sure, I feel vulnerable for a bit, but it passes and I feel better. Taking care of myself emotionally has helped me to take care of myself physically, too. When you’re depressed you don’t want to move. You don’t want to eat properly. You don’t want to intereact with people. I’ve started cooking for myself (granted, it’s not the most healthy food, but it’s better than frozen pizza and oreos), I take walks, I make friends… some friends I never expected to make (but I’m so glad I did!).
So, it’s been a weird year for me. Growing up bit by bit, knowing that I can go back to my dad’s house if I need to, but I shouldn’t look at it as my home anymore. Knowing that my parents are always there to support me, but that I’m able to handle some things on my own.
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