My life is in shambles.

Perhaps that’s too melodramatic.

My life is going through a transitional period. My life is in a semi-controlled spiral that is heading neither up nor down. My life is getting dusted off and put into boxes. My life is finding unnecessary dead weight and throwing it overboard in the middle of this transition.

A few minutes before I sat down and started writing this blog entry, I discovered an old printer in my closet. A remnant of the previous year and I guess the increased printing demands that came along with it. I would have used that printer this year but it decided to stop working when I moved into my soon to be former apartment. I grabbed the printer, carried it outside while stepping over various trash bags filled with clothes, went down to the dumpster and chucked that bitch straight into the trash. If my life is going to be in shambles, I am going to take advantage of the give no fucks attitude that comes along with it. That includes finding the trash in my life and getting rid of it.

I am moving out of my apartment because I accepted a mid-year RA position with the housing department. It’s a good opportunity for me and I needed an escape from my apartment. My room doesn’t get any sunlight and the complex has a certain kind of prison aesthetic to it.  there are other reasons but I won’t get into them right now.

The stress of moving is compounded with the stress of what I’m moving too. I am moving into an environment that is directly tied to the responsibilities and expectations of a job. I wouldn’t have taken the position if I didn’t think I could do it, but it’s difficult to shake the inherent anxiety that comes along with such a change. I want to be good at this job and the thought of failure has kept me on edge ever since I was offered the position.

In a way, this transition back to the dorms is one of the last opportunities for me to find a sense of home around Eugene. My room last year wasn’t home. My apartment this year isn’t home. The area around campus has only ever felt like a stopgap between an earlier life and whatever life I’ll live after I leave. There is no sentimentality. I would leave tomorrow if I could.   And that just doesn’t sound healthy.

With the community centric resources afforded to resident advisors and a greater investment in time, maybe I can make this next place feel like a home. It’s a tough sell, even for me, but some hope is better than no hope I guess.

However, this questionable hope will not impede an even greater force within in me: My complete unwillingness to force anything. I will try my best to connect with my residents and I hope they will like me and I hope my next living space will feel like a home. But I won’t cry myself to sleep if those things don’t work out. I won’t be like Allison’s father and try to create an image that doesn’t exist. Although I do appreciate his passion for interior decorating (perhaps my living spaces would feel more homey if I actually put effort into styling them), I would rather let that house burn to the ground than force something that doesn’t come naturally. While that comparison may be a little shaky (residents liking me/feeling at home versus a dysfunctional family dynamic caused by a closeted and emotionally abusive patriarch) , that’s how I’m connecting the text.

In conclusion, my life is in shambles. However (the above disjointed block of text aside), I am kind of excited for the fresh start. Today: printer executions; tomorrow: meeting my new residents. I can’t force anything in this world. But I can choose to have a better outlook if I put in the effort. Who knows if anything good will actually come from that, but for the first time in awhile, I’m excited to find out.

Guiding Questions

• How much do you hate moving??
• Had a good or bad RA? Tell me about that down below and I’ll take some notes.
• Am I the only one who is really enjoying Fun Home? Tell me about your favorite part from chapters one or two.