Today has been a really stellar twelve hours.
I got a reply on another job.
A professor I had two years recognized me and said he would give me a letter of recommendation.
And one of my favorite professors said she loved my blog!
To top it all of, I got a reply on my top-tier new apartment.
It sounds like a beautiful place. A three bedroom, two bathroom lake-view duplex in Worcester, MA. New appliances. Marble counter tops Stack-able washer and dryer. A pool. State of the art gymnasium. I'm going to go out and see it the second she gets back to me.
It just really sounds like a home to me. Which is a strange concept for me, as I've been living through what seems to be an endless cycle of roommates for the past three years here in Fitchburg, and my family is less of a family, more like three people (my mother, brother, and father) occupying a space together. Breaking up with my boyfriend makes the concept seem even stranger now too.
So the idea of an actual home, a nice home, one that has new windows and heat that works and has been renovated in the past century is an odd one. Its a house for people who actually make money. I sort of paused, thought about it again today, and had a moment that basically went: "Fuck, I make money now? I'm a grownup now? When the hell did that happen?"
For years we always talk about "When I grow up" like its some obvious blip on a timeline. Something you celebrate on a certain birthday. You can put it on a calendar or as an event on your phone and go "Fuck yeah! Today I am a grown-up!"
But its not. It isn't that way at all.
Growing up happens when you're not looking.
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