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Sorry about my lack of a post yesterday, I was sick at home with a migraine. Yeah, those are not fun.

So! In news, the boyfriend and I are doing something I never thought I’d do again…getting a roommate. Our last experience was, shall we say, volatile at best, so this is mostly unexpected. But, then again, it’s pretty expected at the same time. I realize that sounds odd, but it’s the situation specifics here: it’s his cousin.

In honor of respecting privacy, we can just call her Blondie Dorkus Scaredy-Cat. Or Blondie. Yeah, that’s fitting. 🙂

Now, normally, I go by my code…I’ve just learned not to stray over the years. The code is simple:

  1. Don’t rent with anyone you’d like to stay friends with…
  2. Don’t let anyone get away with not paying their share…
  3. and don’t rent without a contract with your renter.

Well, I’m throwing #1 out the window because of this exception: Blondie is family. Not by blood, not really in any way. Her mother is married to the boyfriend’s uncle. Regardless…have you ever heard that quote about friends being the family you choose? Well, even if she wasn’t family, I’d choose her in a heartbeat. Besides, she’s 19 years old and trying to get out on her own feet. Her other option was to move in with a pair of friends also just getting started and that’s always a rough situation. I just really hope that, with the start we’re going to be giving her, she’ll be able to land on both feet nicely. At least, better than both the boyfriend and I’s first times moving out…

Mine was an utter wreck. Both times, really. The first time I was actually kicked out of my parents’ house when I was 17. (Side note: I didn’t smoke, do drugs, or get failing grades. I was in challenge classes in school, the difference was I was being a stupid teenager and my dad and I were like oil and water.) I moved to St. Joseph with some people that I trusted incorrectly and ended up being kicked out of there when the wife had a bipolar attack. I lost a lot of stuff in that move which I had acquired while living there, namely my 1st English edition of the fairy tales by The Brothers Grimm and 3rd edition Edgar Alan Poes (bequeathed to me by my ex’s grandmother). The loss of the books was a heartbreak.

The second time I moved out, I was 18. I left basically impossibly quickly with a tote to my name and nothing else. I had to quit my job and I ended up living with some friends and my ex working a dead end job. Minimum wage was only $6.50 at the time and I was working enough to be losing money because of taxes as well as babysitting for my friends’ three kids. Then, when I moved in with just my ex and another friend, I was walking everywhere. I walked to and from work and nearly starved because my ex could eat a truck and still be hungry.

I’ve felt the fear of being homeless, I’ve faced starvation, I’ve learned what it means to literally have nothing, I’ve lost friends and money and stability, I’ve walked through hell and come out the other side. It leaves you wanting to give the best start for those you care about. Because of this, I realize just how adult I have become. Of course, that doesn’t make me any less of a big kid…thank goodness.