Packing up my life is depressing. Note: This post is in no way useful

Today is moving day. *Le sigh* Today I leave this glorious and bustling city full of opportunities behind. Thank God I hate New York because this situation would suck so much more otherwise. Except… I’m weirdly depressed.

Due to some housing complications, today is the day I move back to the ‘burbs. Back to Connecticut, Land of Pearls and Polos. Back to… MY PARENTS.

Now, my parents are actually pretty bad ass. The mere fact that they’re letting me crawl back home with my tail between my legs without bitching is surprisingly awesome. Except it’s not living with my parents that’s bothering me. I mean, I could have stayed in New York. I could have found a new apartment, but that would have required a year lease and I didn’t want to sublet or live with anyone else other than my current roommate (our relationship is mildly creepy, don’t worry about it). And, as you all know, New York is my own personal Hell so I’d rather travel and move to the Pacific Northwest and hug a tree.

Moving home to chill with my parents for a few months will give me the freedom to do that.  Though as I write that sentence I realize I’m trying to justify this to you so I come across as less of a loser. No one wants to be a 22-year-old moving back home. It looks like a failure. I don’t consider myself a failure – actually, I’m usually pretty cocky in terms of my life and my career (operative word: usually) – but there’s still something unsettling about relying on the parentals.

God, why am I so depressed today? I realize this post is completely incoherent and not at all useful to anyone, but the beauty of my blog is that I get to bitch to you without complaint (my mom’s a hardcore optimist and I can’t really whine to her – hi mom!).

Maybe it’s seeing my life in cardboard boxes. Or seeing all the things I bought for this apartment go to complete waste as I sell them on Craigslist, remembering how excited I was to come here 6 months ago. Maybe it’s my slow realization that I am, in fact, going through my Quarterlife Crisis and need some guidance and going home feels like one giant step backwards.

Okay, Marian, enough drama. Pull yourself together woman! Time for some optimism! Holy shit, I really am my mother’s daughter. POSITIVES:

Must. Put. In. Pocket

Going home means saving money which means travel (Australia?) and the freedom to keep working for myself without having to worry about rent or food or metro cards. Going home means I can hang out with my puppy who is without question the most adorable creature that has ever existed EVER IN THE HISTORY OF ANYTHING. Going home means no more city! And yes to greenery! And the beach! And silence. Ohmygodsilence.

Ahhhh, I feel better now.

Tagged as: blogging, family, quarterlife crisis