So, it's done...The move is finally finished, and now I'm stuck with an apartment filled with boxes, furniture, and me. Life seems to finally be picking up, I think.
Now, I get to spend the next few weeks unpacking, rearranging, cursing because I don't like the way things are, rearranging some more, kicking boxes because I can't remember where I packed something, and christening new toilets with drunken binges. Go team!
Through all of this, though, I am really having a hard time shaking this nagging feeling that I'm making a huge mistake. Common sense says "Dude, relax, you're on your own, you've got a solid income, you're getting an education, you'll be fine." Fear says "Omgwtfbbq!! What the hell were you thinking??"
I'm thinking that the alcohol is going to help squash some of those fears as they well up inside. Let's pray that my wrecked liver can continue persevering through the constant abuse that I put it through. Although, I do think that a few new choices in alcohol may be in order. I need to find some good bottles of wine to get attached to, and expand on my tequila collection.
Sadly, with every good thing that happens in life, bad things happen also. I had a huge falling out with my brother over a comment I made that he didn't take too well. Apparently, it's alright for him to make a mockery of my education and me trying to better myself, but when the tables are turned, everything goes to hell in a handbasket. Unfortunately, the victim in this scenario wasn't a person. My curio cabinet was the tragic target of abuse.
Everytime I would go to my grandparent's house, I would always admire the collection of model cars my grandfather had. The majority were of cars from the 40's and 50's. When he passed away, and the family was dividing up the possessions, the only thing I really wanted was my grandfather's car collection. My mom even went so far as to buy me a curio cabinet to keep the collection in. The thing is ridiculously massive, weighing in at god knows how many pounds, and it makes me look like a dwarf.
When "The Moving Debacle" happened, though, one of the back mirrors was damaged, and now I have to go through the task of replacing it, and making my cabinet whole again. It's funny, but in all the things I own, that cabinet and those cars are the only thing that can really hurt me. Seeing the cabinet damaged really hit me hard, even to the point of calling my father in the middle of the night ranting about the whole thing. Funny how that works out.
Either way, the mirror is on order, and it will be fixed soon, so the cars have their own personal garage to sit in and be all shiny and spiffy. The other rooms will be finished sooner or later, hopefully sooner than later. Going full tilt seven days a week really doesn't give me room to do a whole lot, either due to exhaustion, or not wanting to cause a ruckus at four o'clock in the morning. Damn me for being a nice neighbor.
I'm just anxious to finish this junk up, so I can quit writing about moving, and put something more interesting down on paper...or, um...whatever this thing is considered.
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