My life in boxes

I was hoping to give a post like this a little bit more justice than writing it at 11:45 at night and half asleep, but here's to being spontaneous right?

For the past nine years I've called a typically southern styled suburban middle class house in Texas my home. Three years ago, I somewhat moved out as I went on to college. My university isn't far from my parents' house so I would visit often and spend holidays there and parts of my summer there. My boyfriend lives maybe 1 minute and a half away, so there's another incentive to visit home often. Plus, I really do like my family for the most part. And even though I don't want to admit it, I do miss them when I've been away for a while.

Recently I learned that my dad was offered a job he couldn't pass up, so him my mom and my little sister are all hopping the bus to Kansas, while my older brother and I stay here in Texas.

As I've been spending a lot of time home recently, I've been in the middle of the process of helping my parents clean up the house and put our lives into ugly brown boxes and label them with worn out sharpies. It feels weird to categorize so much of my growing years to "media room bookshelf" or "Nikki's old things" or "kitchen cabinets."

I didn't even realize how much I actually love and appreciate this place until I'm literally watch it disappear before my eyes.

It's the end of a chunk of my life and the beginning of something totally brand new. Maybe it's for the better and maybe not. But as I'm standing the middle of a half boxed up life I wonder what happy things are going to come of this. I don't want to say goodbye to my childhood or my family.

The day was inevitable. Either I was going to leave first or they would, so I guess the fates intervened and made a choice.

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