When I first moved into this place, I had big plans. "You won't recognize this apartment in two months, baby." I began painting my living room a lovely jade green. (Began being the operative word.) I wanted to have the carpets cleaned, new curtains put up, new furniture for my bedroom. It's been 7 months, but if you took one look, you'd think I was a squatter.
I had to hold my breath to open the office closet this morning. Dust bunnies flying in my hair. Boxes, clothes stacked to the top. Most of my life is in this closet. Old journals, photos, videos, cds, clothes. Even old prescriptions. Most of them are still unopened. That's scary. I began to wonder why I'd stashed most of this stuff in a closet. Then, I found it: the tape that kept me locked in my apartment for a week straight last winter. The Pike family home videos. Me in an incubator, Christmas in Dallas, slip-n-slide, cook-outs, graduation, etc. Most people get the warm and fuzzies watching happy times with the family. I'm not most people. I'm reminded of what I don't have anymore, what I think I'll never have again. Stability. Comfort. Love. Everything synonymous with family.
Well, I watched the tape, anyway. I feel better for it. I've been hiding my problems away in a box, instead of hiding from my them. Same difference. I'm going to finish cleaning the closet, because Tim is moving in with me 2 weeks from now. Yes, I have to live with a boy. It's only temporary, 6 months top. But now where will I hide everything in the closet?
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