After a long and painful battle of a relationship for the past eight years where I kept giving yet another chance to a man who cannot seem to commit to anything, much less a woman, I am moving back to the neighborhood where I grew up. When my parents first moved in, there were horses across the street. Through the years the neighborhood has been cleaned up, recycled, and now is bordering on vaguely industrial. There is a chance to purchase a house next door to my parent’s house, but it is clearly uninhabitable. There is no bathroom, hot water, heat or anything redeeming about the house It was built in 1942, and is seriously small, with only one tiny bedroom. My first apartment was bigger than this place.
But, I have always been a HGTV and interior design junkie. When other kids were riding bikes and skinning knees, I was cutting out pages of catalogs to build my dream house decor. I could spend hours in IKEA and browsing furniture stores. Through the years, I have translated my artistic sense to a successful career as a graphic and web designer.
For the next few months, while we wait for the closing of the house, and for the mortgage of my current plastic-crated abode I will be living with my parents. That will be ..interesting? I haven’t lived with my parents in over 10 years.