It hit me today that I’ve officially been living in my current house for eleven years – one year more than I spent in my childhood home [pictured below].
I moved into this place around the time Nine Inch Nail’s The Fragile was released, which I’ve been listening to a lot the last few days. Not sure if it’s a coincidence or a subconscious choice, but it’s crazy how visceral, tangible the transport back to October 1999 feels. It’s like I’m sitting in the middle of an unfurnished dining room all over again, “We’re In This Together” on repeat, wishing it reminded me of my boyfriend at the time, but knowing that the only thing we were in together was a shitty, incompatible relationship based on distrust and disgust.
My landlord has been trying to sell all of his rental property for the last year. We have a broken For Sale sign in our yard and a ditzy real estate agent brings the occasional potential buyer through our house.
I never thought I’d still be living here after all this time, but it’s looking like it won’t be my home for much longer.
I think my mom should just give me her house.