I will be moving out of my brand new home in three days, after living here for 3 months.
I’m not too sad, honestly. I lived in my old house for 16 years, so I’m still adjusting to this new room. I still wake up sometimes, baffled as to where on Earth I am. I still cruise by my old house, silently fuming that the new owners have changed my childhood place. I occasionally wonder if I’ll ever feel as comfortable in any houses as I did on 1511 Georgina Avenue. The first night I stayed here was after 16 hours of hard labour with no breaks. I dropped off a load in the spare room, which is still being used for storage of our unpacked boxes, and cursed the house.
“You’re not my home, and never will be!” I sneered, half delirious from thirst and exhaustion.
I still haven’t really adjusted to this house, honestly. My room was fully unpacked. I had all my books and figurines back. I even got some new things, like a cat shaped rug. However, this house still seems strangely foreign to me and I am not adjusted to it. I can tell you about all the quirks of this house: there are exactly 13 steps to go upstairs, there’s a small bump in the floor by the laundry room. The old owners burned a huge hole in the counter and covered it with an artfully placed cutting board. The pantry door squeaks just loud enough to alert my Dad whenever I want a snack late at night. I can also still tell you about the quirks from the old house. The paint was peeled in my bedroom from where the bunk bed rubbed the wall, and I would peel it ever so slightly when I was bored or upset. There was a beautiful hardwood floor stained with paint, then covered with a plush pink carpet to help us move. There’s a small amount of cream cheese on the ceiling in the kitchen from when my Mom and I tried to make icing but turned the mixer on way too high, and sent it ricocheting up. As we are both very short and had very high ceilings, we could never really get it down. I like this new house, but it is not my home.
Luckily for me, I am moving again! This time, it will be to Glendon. Glendon is in Toronto, or about 18 hours from little old Thunder Bay. It is also the small York, on the original campus. I’m…. not very fond of Toronto. I find it very big, and where it’s larger, there’s more potential to get lost. When I get lost, all hell breaks loose. I freak out and am a generally unhappy camper. During the weekends, I will make a two hour trek on buses and subways to visit my boyfriend and turtles, whom he will be co-adopting with me. I will be mostly living in Wood residence, the smaller of the two dormitories. To be more specific, as I just found out, I will be in house A on the 3rd floor. The quiet floor. Dun dun dunnnnn.
I am not a quiet person. I can be very, very loud. This obviously represents a problem. What does quiet floor entail? I have to shut up earlier? The normal quiet hours begin around 11 pm on weeknights. Does this mean I have to shut up at 10? 9? 8? What does shutting up entail? Do I have to sit around and do nothing? Can I use my laptop? Can I type? I’m also a very enthusiastic typer. I don’t try to, I just have a very clicky keyboard. Of course, if I typed very slowly it’d be quieter, however then I may as well not type at all. At 3 in the morning, my WPM is 54. It would be faster if I didn’t have to worry about a test, but it is what it is. It is also possible that I can use my touchscreen keyboard, but again, very slow.
Am I allowed to get up at 3 in the morning to have a snack on the quiet floor?
I’m getting, as evidenced, to the important parts: typing and food. I suppose if worse comes to worst I can befriend people from other houses and/or floors and borrow their room for when I want to whine, type loudly, and eat crunchy foods late at night. Of course, I could also learn to shut my mouth.
Tl;dr I am moving into a new house, the second within 3 months. I wonder if I will ever find a new “home”. I stress about living on a quiet floor.