Do I deserve a Pulitzer Peace Prize for moving back in with my parents?
As your girlfriend (or boyfriend) has probably mentioned, this is my last weekend living in Boston. As of Sunday morning, I’ll be packing up and taking my talents back to beautiful Weymouth, Massachusetts. If you aren’t familiar with the quaint waterfront town, here’s a nice little breakdown of Brockton By The Sea:
Like any town, strong public schools are the most important, and my alma mater is just that:
32/100. Is that good? Could be worse. Probably not adjusted for inflation.
Obviously safety and low crime rates are crucial as well, and I think Weymouth really strives in that area:
I can envision the white picket fences right now.
And yea we might have a little drug problem, but who doesn’t in 2017?
I can’t wait to be home. Say what you want, but those streets raised me, and made me the internet bad boy I am today.
Am I on par with a war hero for making the responsible decision to move back home for my last semester of college to save money to make big moves after college? It’s hard to say, but probably. I never claim to be perfect, but read the writing on the wall.
Obviously, I am a bit sad, and am a little scared of the transition. I’ve been living in a male brothel with my 7 friends for the last year, so it’s going to take a little time to get used to sharing a bathroom with my mother. With that, I think I deserve a Pulitzer Peace Prize for moving back home. I don’t like to compare myself to others, but this move reminds me all too much of Michael Jordan retiring at the top of his game to play minor league baseball. We’re both just two people at the top of our crafts, taking risks and putting it all on the line.
Whenever I face a new challenge, or crossroads, I like to make a pro-cons list of the new situation. So naturally, here’s all the pros and cons I can think of for moving home with my parents:
I can eat like a human being
This is probably what I’m looking forward to the most. The fact that my body still functions with my diet should be some medical school case study. Every morning I wake up, I prove every medical textbook and scholarly journal wrong. I haven’t had a fruit in 3 months. I had Pringles for breakfast this morning. The scary thing is I feel great. But I know it won’t last forever. With that, I can’t wait for my mom to cook me normal, balanced, meals. The most exquisite meal I can cook on my own is pasta with sauce AND Parmesan cheese, so I’m excited to get home for this.
Not that I do a lot anyway, but I hate doing laundry. Actually, doing laundry isn’t terrible, it’s putting the clothes away. I despise that to the point that I just don’t do it. I just have a pile of clean clothes that eventually become dirty and then I can’t tell the difference so just wear them anyway.
I’ll admit, it’s going to be weird walking into my house and not having my feet stick to the ground. I’m used to having a inch of dry alcohol and mystery substances on every surface of my house, so this will definitely different, but most likely for the better.
Livable air quality
With my bedroom being in the basement of a college party house, one could probably assume that the quality of air down there is not great. There’s just a lingering musk of Rubinoff and freshman girl regrets. It’s going to take a little adjustment period to let that go, but once again, probably for the better.
Honestly, I haven’t ruled out the possibly of the mice following me. It’ll be like Poltergeist 2 where the ghosts follow the family to their new house. I can only dream about how refreshing it will be not being woken up every night to the sound of mice playing Dance Dance Revolution in my walls.
No one to drink with at any hour of the day
I feel like it’s going to be a bit more challenging to get my parents to drink with my at 11am on a Tuesday than it is with my roommates. That being said, I’m willing to give them a chance.
I can’t be naked
If you have ever been my roommate, you’ve seen me naked more than you’ve seen yourself naked. My dancer legs weren’t meant to be concealed. God made me that way for a reason. Flaunt it if you got it.
I can’t walk to Dominos
This is actually probably a good thing. My body can’t take much more garlic crust.
I’m allergic to my cats
No joke I’m deathly allergic to my cats, but I just have to deal with it. I literally developed asthma from them, and have to carry an inhaler around like a nerd whenever I’m home. I also have to live off of benadryl, so that’s fun.
I’m gonna miss those little bastards. We’ve had our differences, but we’ve grown a mutual respect over the past year. Real recognize real. Animal recognize animal. Scavenger recognize scavenger.
So RIP to the Blog Cave, the Zen Den, the House of Pain, the Four Loko Play Place, or whatever you want to call my bedroom/t-shirt warehouse/future museum. I made more memories than I should have, most of which most people will never hear of. It was also the birth place of this stupid website, which has grown to be my baby and all I care about in life at this point. Roxbury Forever. Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.