Nobody told me it was going to be like this. They sell stacks of home and garden magazines, all raving about how great it is to have your own place. Every page has 101 Ways to Organize Your Pantry, 101 Paint Colors You Can't Go Wrong With, 101 Things Your Bedroom Needs. I keep looking, but I still haven't found the list entitled 101 Myths Georgie Fell For. At the top of that list would be Myth #1: Moving out of your parents' house will be everything you imagine.
What they neglect to mention is that you will be lonely, alone, by yourself, solo. Did I mention, the only one living in your house will be you? Sometimes I make rash decisions. I'm wondering if this is going to be one of them. Don't get me wrong, the smart green window boxes bursting with red geraniums and the old wood floors are fantastic. There's room in the backyard for a garden, and the kitchen will do for dinner parties with friends I don't have yet.
Dash it all. I'm going to be fine. If there's one thing Georgia Delaney is going to be, it's fine. What was I brought up, an orchid? Heaven's no, a sunflower I was brought up and a sunflower I will be.
The unpacking is coming along ok. Mom, being Mom, came for the weekend and helped clean the place from top to bottom. Katie tried to help unpack the kitchen but got frustrated trying to organize the dishes because I have so many and they're all different colors and sizes. She's not too keen on scrubbing bathrooms, so she just sat on the floor and watched me unpack my closet. When everything was unloaded thanks to Dad and Brett, and the Mom was reasonably assured that she couldn't do anything more, they packed themselves into the Honda and drove away. They left me, feigning buoyancy, standing on the front steps waving.
It sure seemed like a good idea when I was signing the rental papers. Cute tiny house, big enough for me, a couple hours away from the parents, job at a museum telling people about how artists respond to politics and culture with their art. All good. New adventures. I'm the adventurous one, I'm the independent one, blah blah blah. What was I thinking? I was thinking I was tired of sharing a room with Katie, who leaves her dirty soccer socks everywhere. I was thinking I was tired of having all of my stuff packed away in boxes in the garage because there wasn't room for it in the house. That's what I was thinking.
Well, now I have room for my eclectic vase collection and my brainstorm board with all of my sewing sketches. Hurrah.
Quite disgruntled to be so easily beguiled by decorating magazines,
George
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