This blog is supposed to be about moving to Chicago, so I'm gonna get back to that for a second.
My move date is rapidly approaching and it seems like the closer it gets, the bigger the pile of shit I have to move gets. If you had asked me a few weeks ago if I was a hoarder or not I'd say abso-fucking-lutely not. Ask me again today. I'm totally a hoarder. I was going through my closet yesterday trying to figure out what can stay in Detroit and what must come with me to Chicago, but I got sidetracked when I found basically my entire K-12 life. Tests, homework, dance trophies, soccer trophies, t-ball pictures, works of art I made at Plaster Playhouse when I was 8, parting gifts from my high school senior all-night party. It was like a time capsule that I didn't even know I buried deep in the abyss that is my closet. Needless to say I spent about two hours looking at all this shit and didn't get an ounce of packing or laundry done. I started to wonder why I kept all of this random, pretty much meaningless stuff (I hate using that word, but I don't know how to better describe a box of barettes made from random household objects. Literally. I wish I had taken a picture of the Bazooka bubblegum barette.). Then I remembered who my mom is: the woman who has boxes of clothes from pre-1985 in our basement, the woman who has a cake topper she never used for her wedding and whose marriage ended in divorce 20 years ago, the woman who kept all of my baby teeth. That's like borderline psychotic behavior. I was instantly scared straight at the thought of simultaneously becoming my mother and a batshit crazy hoarder on a TLC reality show. 5 full garbage bags later I was officially purged of my pre-college self. It might take another few years before I can get rid of all of my MSU sideline passes and the My Chemical Romance poster from my freshman dorm room, but I'm taking baby steps.
Days left until I'm officially a Chicagoan: 9
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