Leaving the nest

In less than one week, I'll be living in my own place. Thursday's the day- the boy and I will be cramming boxes and bed and TV and lizard cage and all into the back of a U-Haul and carting it off to a new home. Our home.
It's exciting and alien at the same time to think already of this new place as HOME. I've lived so long in the mountains among trees that whisper in the wind and earth that springs into fresh scent in the rain, that the seven-mile-down-the-hill difference will be a bit unnerving at first. Granted, there are trees and such at the new place as well - it's not really that much of a difference - but there's more cement, too. More asphalt and metal and plastic and cars and noise and traffic. It's nothing compared to, say, L.A. or New York, but there's a discernable difference between here and there.
Being amountain girl, I want to see mountains, not buildings, when I look out the window. I 'll get over it, I'm sure, but it's a little ... disquieting ... to know that it will take me half an hour now to drive up to my favorite lake, instead of fifteen minutes, and that one hundred yards from my front door will lead me to a busy business street rather than a nice back-country road lined in silence and green. The nature-lover in me shivers a bit.
I'll have to plant a rose, or some such, by the front door.
Foliage-qualms aside, I actually couldn't be happier. Don't get me wrong, I love Mama Wren, and Papa Wren is fun to play Sorry with, but it's time. It's been time for along while now, but I didn't have the funds or, truth be told, real motivation, to get out on my own before. It was always easier to bitch about things in the comfort of my rent-free, on-the-spot-laundry, free-internet digs, than to serisouly consider trying for my own. I guess you could say I'm a late-bloomer.
Now that things are set in motion, set in stone and very quickly coming together, I feel a sort of giddiness, a kind of bubbling of the soul, at the thought that, "I'm really doing this. I'm really stepping forward, making aBIG decision and leap in my life." I feel like giggling, like jumping up and down and squealing out somthing silly like, "Wheeeeheehehehehehoooohohoaahaaahahahaaaaaa!!!" Or something. maybe a simple "squeeee!" Like alittle girl who finally got not just a pony for christmas, but a friggin' unicorn - and it speaks and tells the most wonderful stories.
I feel like a little kid.
Mama Wren and I went out and about yesterday, visiting relatives, having lunch, and at the end of it she bought me brand new silverwar with kick-ass curls at the ends, two frying pans (one pale blue, one brownish-crimson) and a salt and pepper shaker set (bamboo), fot the apartment. Just so I'd have something new in my new place. In my new life. Then we came home and I spent several hours packing up kitchen stuff, and the whole time I felt giddy. And as soon as I get home from work today, I'll be packing even more, and somehow that's not depressing.
Everybody bitches about moving, but I'm too caught up in that "squeeee" to feel grumpy or put-upon. I suppose that might change on Thursday, when all my careful packing needs to be unpacked and everything put away, but for now I'm thrilled. Sure, sure- the next move, whebever that ma be, I'll probably be bitching right alng with everyone else, but for now, for this first real move, I feel alive.
Is it odd to be more concerned about where I'll put all my books than about the lack of a dishwasher? I am, after all, a modern girl, and for many more years than I care to rememberm there's always been a dishwasher. Not when I was a kid, but hey- I was a kid, I didn't care then. I rarely washed dishes then, and when I did it was fun because it was usually when I was at a friend's house or had a friend over, and the kitchen would consequently end up as wet and soapy as the dishes, if not more so. It's that hose-thing with the sprayer on it. C'mon- who can resist the urge to squirt a friend with it while doing the dishes? I mean, it's so convenient, hooked up to the water supply, and well, it's right there...
I think the boy would be smart to avoid the kitchen at dishwashing time. (Evil, wicked grin.)
Ahhh. 3:55. Time to shut down the computer, feed the fish, and head home. Tomorrow's paper is being printed and my work is done.
I have boxes at home, waiting to be packed.

Squeeeeeee!


EDIT: Forgive the typos- I'm smarter than I type, really. My fingers just can't keep up with my brain sometimes. Ok, a lot of the time...