Leaving Home

Apart from the spluttering coughing fits and the constant wheezing that are plaguing me at the moment, the above gif pretty accurately describes the state I'm in. By accurately I mean to say that I haven't turned into a skinny be-suited ad executive, but I am rather excited. Dancing around dorkily with glee, even. Not even the constant feeling of needing to cough up a lung can suppress these happy vibes.

Those who know me well will be aware of where I live. Namely, that I live quite a long way from everything good and exciting that Melbourne has to offer. When Mike asked how I'd describe the particular suburb where my parents live, I used the phrase "...it's a far-off land where the grass is green and the jeggings are tight and the bus stops are for loitering in front of". I'll let you formulate your own mental image. 

Given that all journeys home from the city last at least 35 minutes, I spent most of my third year of uni sampling the many and varied couches, floors and mattresses of pals. That fact (and a lot of time spent on South American buses) means I can fall asleep virtually anywhere. While this has proven to be a useful skill, it also means that far too much time is spent on public transport traveling back to my bed, when I could have been in my bed. Too much time on public transport, heading towards the end of the line.

Too much time driving to and from places. 

45 minutes into the city. 

An hour to work. 

I live a ten minute walk from the local shopping centre, but the rage-inducing obnoxious scummy kids that fill it is hardly worth the efficient travel time. 

Thus, it pleases me to no end to announce the following: Mike and I are moving in together, and we're moving to an adorable apartment a mere TRAM RIDE from the city. It's a fifteen minute drive to work. Call it twenty-five in peak hour morning traffic. It's DOWN THE ROAD (literally, it's hardly even a block) from a house full of some of my closest friends. 

NO MORE! Will I have to rise any time before 7am.

NEVER AGAIN! will I weigh the pros and cons of catching a Night Rider.
RARELY! Will I sleep on a floor. 

There had been other apartments seen, houses considered briefly then immediately deemed as "Ugh, too expensive". Then after I bailed and drove the forty-five minutes home (forty-five minutes in good traffic), Mike called. 

"DUDE. I FOUND OUR FUTURE HOME."

After the applications had been submitted, the references checked and the offer finally made to us, I couldn't do anything but quietly squeal to myself. I composed myself, then ran upstairs to the online room in order to squeal some excitement at whoever happened to be around. 

Upon exhaustedly arriving at my backyard abode after the hour drive from South Melbourne, I looked around and suddenly realised something quite obvious: that I was moving out. It won't be the first time I've been separated from the Reb Cave for a long period of time. And spending long periods of time at houses that aren't mine ain't no thang. But moving to a new cave (as it were) ... that means packing up my belongings. My room would cease to be. I'm sure I'll write some long-winded farewell post about the ol' Reb Cave. For now, suffice to say that I can see the process of packing my shit up to be a long, nostalgic, epic and dusty process. I'm a hoarder by nature, and this house happens to be the longest my family's stayed in one location in all recorded history of my having been alive. Thus, I've accumulated a lot of shit. 

For now though, let it be known that next weekend is Moving Time, that we've been pondering housewarming themes, as well as potential ways to incorporate Game of Thrones into the decorating of our home.