This weekend we did a lot of furniture moving - we threw the couch upstairs away and replaced it with the couch from my parent's room, and then we moved the couches from the family room into my parent's room.
I spent about three hours rearranging things in the rec room upstairs, hooking up surround sound to the cable and DVD player, moving the rug, vacuuming and finding pillows to set around. When I finished, I found myself pretty excited about using the room - having my friends over, watching movies on the big screen, listening to the radio in surround sound, etc.
But then I had a sudden realization: I don't really live here any more...what does it matter to me what the rec room looks like?
When I get to school this fall I'm going to apply for a California driver's license and declare residency in California. Next summer, I'm going to find an internship somewhere up in Northern California, and though I still want to see the east coast, I'm increasingly sure that there's no where I'd rather live and work than California. I want to go to grad school at Stanford or Berkeley. I'm excited about this - about becoming a California resident, about carving out my place down there.
I am...excited. Finally! I'm not afraid, or unsure that I'm making the correct decision, or mourning my lost childhood or something equally dramatic. My path is clear - hit the books, look for opportunities, and even though I don't really know exactly what I want to do, all I have to do is try new things and eventually I'll figure it out.
What I'm trying to say is I'm not afraid of failing any more.
All of this existentialist crap I've been absorbed with this summer has actually been totally unnecessary. I guess my ego overestimates my problems.
So in a few weeks, I'm going to be leaving home for good - home just for vacations and week-long 'hey parents what's up' visits. Other than wishing I could take this badass rec room with me, I can't wait.
Also my parents are fucking driving me nuts, so that's good.
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