Make Way For Prince Ali

I'm being politely kicked out of my childhood bedroom. Lesa needs a place to put her stuff. I know most 29 year olds have already completely moved out of their parents house. I know I have waited too long for this. I know my dad (and Lesa) are being very patient. Still doesn't make it any easier. This was my place of refuge for 18 years, plus college summers and occasional weekends, and the 4 months after graduation. This is where Sara and I stayed up and designed our dream house. This is where I had slumber party after slumber party. This is where Heather and Natalie and I snuck kittens past mom upstairs and dressed them in baby clothes. This is where I could come home after dates and write for hours in my journal. This is where Cori stayed for a week when Ste. Gen flooded. This is where I could take the perfect nap in the sun, and be woke up by the light of the moon. This is one place where I always felt safe, and everything in the room reflected me.

I tried to put away a few things right when I came home from California. I bought a big plastic box, and remember Amanda telling me I didn't have to throw it all away, I could put it in the box. I keep thinking I would feel better if I wasn't being immediately replaced, if Dad had mentioned it a year ago. That's not really fair though, because he didn't need it a year ago, and if he would have mentioned it a year ago, I probably wouldn't have done anything then anyway.

I did empty my closet, stuffed all the clothes directly into my backseat, to go through them at home. I came across some funny stuff. Tons of turtlenecks, tons of t-shirts from high school and college. A signed t-shirt from many classmates saying "Class of '94." A few bridesmaids dresses, my bridal gown, my flower girl dress from Christy and Jerry's wedding, and my First Communion dress. It's hard to imagine I was that small. Many are going to Goodwill. A few I just can't part with, will make their way into the plastic box.