I started packing for my move tonight. I know it’s only for two weeks, but of course, after 40 pairs of shoes and 15 pairs of jeans, I’m definitely overwhelmed. But I’m ready. It’s about time.
These last few days, I’ve revisited my favorite parts of being myself. I spent some quality time with my mom this weekend as she tried to nurse my migraine and let me snuggle during dateline. I went out on a fun date only to meet up with my best friend after and unexpectedly crash at her place, with no plans or quite frankly, fucks given… on a Monday. Then just now, my dad and I stood in the doorway watching a surprise firework show nearby. My dog spent a solid five minutes licking my pinky.
I’m emotional as all hell right now to move. I’m not even going far. For the first time, I’ve come to realize that I won’t have these luxuries that I’m so accustomed to. Brittany at age 16 and again at age 22 would be very disappointed in me. But I’ve really come around in the last 3-4 years. I’ve not only mended and reinstated my relationship with my family, but I’ve completely rebuilt it from the ground up. Unconditional love means second, third, 100 chances and it’s finally dawned on me to appreciate each chance.
Maybe it’s because Mercury is in retrograde that I’m tearing up (in a good way!) over this. Who the fuck knows. But when is it really ever time to say goodbye?