I got an apartment.  I’m moving out — move-in date is June 15th.  My birthday.

Happy Birfday to me.  Happy Birfday to me…

Dammit.  Reality intrudes.

There’s so much to prepare for, so much to get ready…

What are you talking about, do you ask?

This is the first time I’ve ever gotten a place of my own.

 Yes.

 At age 31, this is the first time I’ve been gone out on my own.  I tried moving out years ago, but my roommate at the time couldn’t pay rent, so I had to cover everything.  I ended up $4k in the hole, and that’s only measuring immediate costs.  The end result is that I moved back in to try to recuperate the losses and catch up on other bills.

I’ve caught up and then some.  I’ve had my own life on hold for almost seven years.  I want a life.

And Ive had enough of the bullshit.  Being told I’m stupid because I can’t park my car 100% perpendicular with the garage back wall, when I’m about 2° off of center.  (I took classes in geometry and architecture classes, I can tell angles.)  Then being told I’m stupid because I’m parking on the street, because there I just want to get my car damaged.  Never mind I park on the street to avoid arguments.

I only rescued the house from foreclosure on two mortgages, and paid back all back-due bills, and recovered to a normal sense of life.

Never mind.

I’m stupid.  Stupid for having spent 7 years of my life recovering something a stupid old man couldn’t be bothered to protect in the first place.  When he was too busy partying every damn night, 365.25 nights a year, for eight years that I witnessed.  Possibly another three years before that.

He couldn’t plan, I made emergency plans that worked, and now I’m the moron for doing so.

…

I guess so.

I stuck around.

I’ll be damned.  I’m a stupid moron.

Huh.

…

Have fun, readers.  I’m going furniture shopping.  (Just to check out prices and get a realistic price-range before buying anything.)

Skåll!!!