Somewhere along the way, I was too excited about the idea of moving out of my paternal grandmother’s house in exchange for more freedoms and getting closer to total independence that I didn’t realize what I was actually getting myself into. I’ve traded my why-nots in for because-I-said-sos, against my wishes to never pull the authoritarian monopoly my own parents did — just because, little did I know before, boys are monsters. Let’s just say I finally understand why adoption forms have gender preferences you’re to fill out.

Whereas I once awoke with that natural sexy bedhead hairdo, these days my hair looks like I’m losing at a game of Jumanji, and I haven’t painted my nails because — lo and behold — the upstairs sink needs a plumber and I have a precise routine when it comes to doing my nails because such is what keeps me from biting them.

Charlise calls all this “motivation” for me to get my own place that much sooner, keeping her adult company in the meantime (because without it, you get stir-crazy, trust me), but aside from that, my inner writer can’t help viewing this as an experience opportunity. Like, who knows what genius story might come from this?

Because, as much as they are monsters, they are also fountains of imagination — from two years old to emo grade schoolers and broody teens.

Plus, I’ve apparently gotten much better at Monopoly. I don’t know how, so I don’t have any tips, but I think it has to do with the different Monopoly versions and how their gameplay differs from the original. The original’s faults are removed and replaced with pieces that fit the themed versions, so you actually get to play a good game that doesn’t necessarily last for 70 days.

My two teen cousins (with whom I live) are perplexed at my dice rolling (doubles, or just perfect combos) and game luck (landing on my own properties, having the most points, etc.) — but I have found patience and wisdom are better than talking up games and being a sore loser (even throughout the game). Of course, these things also come with experience and age, but maybe they’ll eventually learn from me or something.

Because, like, I am such a great role model. I tell fart jokes and have the mind of a drunk person after midnight, and yet I still somehow manage to develop websites at 3am. If that’s not #rolemodelgoals, then I don’t care to be one in the first place.~

I’m still eating three meals and snacks and avoiding the sugar shakes, and feeling like I’m going to puke it all up, but at least I have vanilla yogurt to keep the bloating at bay and my digestive system regular. I totally forgot I had yogurt until just this week, so I’m totally late to that party and also totally feeling it?? But it’s fine, obviously, because I manage.

The only time I really have to myself is when I lock my door and keep so quiet no one suspects a thing, at night when everyone’s asleep quiet in bed, and when I hide away in the “troll closet” under the staircase. Its purpose is officially the place you go when you need quiet time, even though there is no light or cozy seating yet, but Remy and I both agreed that it needs a lock in the event that it becomes our panic room.

It’d also be a great place to chill during tornadoes, I just hope to God there are no tornadoes, because I really loathe tornadoes — and every other natural disaster, even though I basically brush my teeth with volcanic ash.

Some things I do these days:

• Blog less, comment other blogs more (I want lots of comments, and so…)
• Take lots of pictures
• Do my letter board BECAUSE I’M OBSESSED ($5 from Aldi)
• Read Why Not Me? by Mindy Kaling and dread the end of the book
• Soak in natural light (my desk is right next to the window, even 🥰)

I don’t know what else in my life may change, but I’m oddly enjoying these changes.~