I spent 29 wonderful years of my life living with my four housemates who I called “Mumsie,” “Pops,” “Sistren” and “Brotherman.” Although I had many opportunities to move out on my own (including when I bought my own house), I realized that it would be a heinous crime to force my family to live Geremy-less. Well, after 350 months of preparation, I believe that they have finally come to terms with a Geremy-less house, so I’ve moved into my own wonderful place that I call home.
After waking up in my last bedroom over 4,000 times over the past 11 years, my mind is still getting adjusted to the idea of waking up in my own place. Over the past 3 weeks of living on my own, there have been instances where I woke up and looked around the room thinking, “where am I….whose house is this?!?” To be fair, with the massive backyard lined with fruit trees, private pool, skylights, heated floors, and high ceilings, it feels like this isn’t really my place, but in reality it is a dream come true. More importantly, my ol’ lady is happy as well because she has a nice private place to park and recharge at night.
Now the only remaining thing that I have to figure out is how my parents got food to magically appear in the refrigerator, the house to magically clean itself, and the dishes to magically wash themselves over the past few years, because somehow this house doesn’t seem have those same superpowers.