Dragging my feet

Since this weekend, I have been moving into and organizing my new apartment. It has been messy. How have I accumulated this much stuff? I have been accused of being a pack rat by my dad, but I disagree. I donate extra clothes and such frequently! I swear!

Unfortunately, I also seem to replenish my stock just as often. I never realize how much stuff I have until I have to move it. Hauling box after box of shoes certainly puts my pile into perspective.

It's a big ol' mess up in here.

The horrible mess of the apartment has precluded me from taking pictures of my new space. I don't want to frighten you away before we even get to know each other. I promise that I will share pictures, just as soon as things look less ransacked. 

It turns out that moving is less fun than I thought. The physical labor of heaving box after box of things up and down steps, packing seemingly endless, disorganized piles (why do I have so many dishes and where are my red clogs?), and trying to make everything work in my new space has been pretty tiring. My sister told me to "enjoy the process." I am finding, however, that I am spending more energy cussing at crates that fall on my toes and staring with confusion at Ikea directions.

Maybe some of my frustration stems from my ambivalence about moving out. For so long, I have been looking forward to the time when I could have my own place. These past few years since graduating college, I have been living at home while working on my master's. I am very lucky to have supportive parents that allowed me to come back, eat their food, and monopolize their laundry room. However, I definitely wanted my own space. I craved the independence. Now that the time has come,  I'm nervous. I can't imagine what it will be like to not see my goldendoodles every morning, not eat dinner with my family every night. I am used to people always being around. What if the solitude of my apartment isn't calming, but lonely?

My mother read a child development book when I was young. The author of the guide stated that, before a child makes the jump to the next stage in development, they first experience a kind of regression. The ready to mature child may throw fits or return to below age level behavior. Then, after all the fuss, the child will make the step in maturity and all will be well again. 

I love, love The Flyers (the ride, that is).

I think that I might be resisting that next step. As much as I have been craving this new stage, the reality is a little scary. I will never come back to this place in my life again. Yeah, it hasn't been so great, but at least it is familiar. The great unknown of adulthood is before me and I have been dragging my heels. 

Today, I took a little break from impending adulthood and did some full on regression by visiting my favorite local amusement park. I loved this place as a kid and freaked out every time my family went for our annual summer trip (I gotta ride the swings and the flower thing and the pirate ship and I'm not going in the haunted house and I want some cotton candy!). I had a fantastic time. I hope that this bit of regression was enough to help push me to the next stage. Tomorrow, I am moving in my mattress and hanging my bedroom curtains. It's about to go down up in my apartment. Things are gettin' serious! And I'm going to have to suck it up, move out, and move on to the Great Unknown (cue dramatic orchestra swell). 

If you pet one, you have to pet both. 

Tonight, I'm contemplating courage (not big courage, just the little kind you need to do the things you have to do) and giving some lovin' to Mr. Bingley (my goldendoodle, not the sweet Austen character) and Quincy (my other doodle).