Carry me home

I think I've made my decision: I'm moving.

I can hear them now: you're pulling a "geographic," you can't run from your troubles, blah, blah, blah. And I hear that. I know. I'm not running from anything. I'm just not happy here, and I know that all the old things that are here are just going to haunt me if I stay. It's not a matter of the grass is greener, it's a matter of living where you're not haunted.

It's so sad here. There are so many roads and houses and bars and neighborhoods that just leave a bad taste in my mouth. So many places that remind me of suicide attempts, or low self-esteem, or problems. I don't want to have to look at these things daily. And I don't want to have to carve out a new nitch in an old town. I want to start fresh, new, clean.

First things first, I've got to go through my storage and let go of some things. I know I should get rid of my dresser, because it's 300 pounds of solid wood number one, and because it's huge. I think where I'm moving to I'll only be able to afford a studio apartment. That means all those books have to go. Perhaps I'll just donate them all to the library. 9 boxes of books....

Or, maybe I'll just move it all (minus the books) and see what furniture fits and what doesn't. I think if a studio is the size of my old bedroom then I could fit the dresser and the couch, if a tight fit. I love redecorating.