getting shitfaced

look at me, happily busting out.
why do i always look so bloody unglamorous.

i've a good reason to get shitfaced now though;
I'm moving.
Again.

Yes, i'm pissed off.

When we moved in, I didn't really want to unpack.
I didn't really want to set up home because I didn't want to get too attached,
I didn't want to get comfortable.
I didn't want to make a home and then have to pack my life up into a fucking cardboard box and leave all over again.

But then after a month or so of sleeping on the couch,
moving into my room was amazing. Just amazing.
And i wanted to unpack.
I wanted to put up stuff, set up pretty things.
I wanted to make my room into a cosy little home and be able to just,
live.

So i did that.
I moved furniture around,
tried not to cry when FUCKLOADS of my paintings got soaked in aircon water.
Imagine that, at least try to.
I'm not a fantastic artist, but obviously these paintings meant something to me.
Abstract paintings don't just mean splashes of random colour.
More than that, my first major three hour painting, which i stayed up on a school night to paint (after this strange moment of picking up the pencil),
that was gone.
And i had to chuck it.

I learned to deal and yes,
i loved my room.

But what the hell for.

Because now i'm moving.
Loving my room and having put effort into it doesn't matter one single fucking bit.
Not now anyway.

I cannot even begin to describe to you how i feel right now.
How it feels to coax yourself into letting your guard down.
Simplest things like, turning your rented un-fantastic apartment into a home or trusting a friend with a secret or falling in love,
they all turn into these horrible things that can and probably will turn around and bite you.

Moving, just by yourself, that's fine.
Fitting your entire family's life into a box is just a wee bit difficult.
Yeah we've got a fucking shitload of stuff, but sometimes i wish people would like, get it rather than keep telling us to chuck stuff.
Because you probably haven't had to fit fourteen years of your life, and your sister's life, and your mom's life into a big enough box.
We can keep chucking stuff, but just because we're moving as an entire family would mean we've got a shitload of stuff.
Stuff like my mom's typewriter which i never want to chuck, or boxes of cookbooks/ wine books,
boxes of school books- for The Little Creature as well as myself.

This would be different if we're moving, for good, you know.


Here's my reason to get shitfaced tonight