One day they’ll say I did the right thing, or so I hope, though I really don’t know what they’d say. I’m moving out soon, it’s something I’ve been meaning to do for a while now. I had planned to do it in February, but it seems sooner would be better. I don’t know exactly what I’m going to do for a living, but I’ve got enough cash at the moment to get by a couple months. It’s kind of exciting, in a nerve-wrecking kind of way, to think that I have no idea what the future holds for me.
I’m 19 now, I think I’m old enough to fend for myself. Maybe solitude is what I need, I’ve gotten used to this unit and operating around it, but I’m tired of it. I don’t want to be working around things anymore, I don’t want to have to hide, or pretend. If moving out means I get to be myself, then fuck yes, I made the right decision. But if I’m only going to find myself conforming to someone else’s norms, someone shoot me. Seriously.
What is it about family that makes it so hard to leave? Is it just simply the fact that you’ve been with them so long that almost every childhood memory revolves around them. Or is it the thought that you couldn’t possibly function just as you used to if the all-too-familiar familial setting was disrupted? I don’t know, but I guess I’ll find out soon enough. I’m going to miss them, of course I will, but I need to do this, and I need to stay away as long as I can. If I do find a job that’ll keep me going, then I don’t think I’ll ever come back. If I don’t, then I’ll have to, or live on the streets or something.
Hopefully none of us will have to see the day where I stand on a pavement busking just so I can afford lunch.
In a sarong. O YEA.