Hello, Dear Memory.
I moved into my new house today. Just across from the college, with one of the main roads through town close by. A short-term ex-roommate and his dad helped me and Rylen move out throughout the middle section of the day. The new room is small, and were it not for the decently large closet, I might have had an extremely hard time piling everything else up high enough to lay my mattress down on the floor. It's a lovely house. The ensuite bathroom is an addition I definitely appreciate, although some of the fixtures in it are quite loose the way they are affixed to the wall.
Eventually I got my desk and my bed and stacks of boxes and the base of my round table set up in such a way that I could reasonably path through the room. That will have to be good enough for today. I somewhat aimlessly messed with Age of Empires 2 a bit while listening to an old Let's Play.
You have been on my mind a great deal, dear Memory, and in some moments I have wandered around the basement that was my house this morning murmuring aloud that I love you, I want for you to be happy, healthy, and for you to have everything you want most to have, and I want to be part of helping you with each if I can. It was almost as though I was dreaming, more in an imagined world than in my basement. I have mixed feelings about this. I grow cross that it takes up time, time I do not spend acting on my plans to bring me closer to you.
I worry increasingly, and I think this is the largest reason that I delay... I worry that I may actually have to wait three or four years in Canada to finish my schooling with reliable financial support. The long time seems to invite a risk of your being already caught up in some other plan for yourself by the time I return, with which I am incompatible. I can only move forward. I did not sleep well last night. I was not sure we were to move in the morning or not, so I slept fitfully, feeling I may need to be awake at any time.
The new house being right on the main road, and my room at the front of the house, there is a great deal more noise here. Rising irregular rushing of the traffic going by, not completely unlike the seashore, but without its rhythm. I shall have to get used to it, I suppose.
It seems an eerie repeat, almost, moving into this nice house just across the street from the college. Memories of my room at Gate Lodge rush back brightly. Oh, how impossible it was to get rid of all the dust, do you remember? But my heart is sore with all this remembering. I need rest. I need rest, and eventually I need action, if any fruit is really to come of all this. And around it all, I need to keep getting through school well. I lay down, and really notice the difference the lack of a box spring makes. My bed feels flat and firm. We left it behind at my behest; I did not think we could have reasonably gotten it back up the stairs. We had to snap bits of the frame for it to come down them initially.
Goodnight, dear Memory. Goodnight. I wish with a pain in my heart that I will see you again.
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