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moving out. not sure how to feel about it. tons of good shit happening professionally + emotionally, coinciding with having to give up the place I grew up in, formed my own identity in, had the best time with my friends in built so many memories in, had my first mental breakdown in, uuuuh, such lovely times. lol. well i guess it wasn’t all fab. I can’t change it so I’m just not going to fight it. for the past month I’ve been stacking all these boxes and watching them form a temple of human remains. in a way, it’s all just stuff. really. you could torch it and forget all about it, it won’t smell like burnt skin or hair, it won’t scream, it’ll just slowly simmer down and turn into ashes. we form ourselves via our STUFF. we build out sense of self, when we remember that our narrow corridor that leads to our bedroom has this sharp turn right between the bathroom and your bedroom and you need to be careful not to hit your little toe with the 5-story figurine dresser, ive been always complaining just how dangerously placed it was, for 17 years. but my parents never bothered placing it somewhere else. after literally having my skin completely shaved off on the little toe of my foot several hundred times, that little flaw in furniture organization grew on me. i never stopped being angry when i knocked my little toe, but i’ll miss it. to this day, i always get panicky when i cross narrow corridors and i always pay extra fucking careful and take 10 eyes and watch what’s past the corner even when im on the street, it’s something that got embedded into the DNA of my personality, just by living in this house for as long as i did. It’s never going to disappear. when i see someone walking towards me on the opposite direction i always make a whole lotta way for them to pass through and my third eye is looking at my little toe. just because. i’m not sorry for it, but i’ll always know why i have this oddly neurotic cute defect lol. i don’t know how im gonna cope when the real moment comes. im tryin to visualize it. but something’s really blocked off. a marble wall in my mind. symmetrical hands placed evenly on a warm face that hasn’t been touched in a while. walls that can speak, but i can’t listen anymore, not that i dont want to, but maybe i’m starting to forget the unique language me and this house created back when we were just kids. growing pains.

moving out. not sure how to feel about it. tons of good shit happening professionally + emotionally, coinciding with having to give up the place I grew up in, formed my own identity in, had the best time with my friends in built so many memories in, had my first mental breakdown in, uuuuh, such lovely times. lol. well i guess it wasn’t all fab. I can’t change it so I’m just not going to fight it. for the past month I’ve been stacking all these boxes and watching them form a temple of human remains. in a way, it’s all just stuff. really. you could torch it and forget all about it, it won’t smell like burnt skin or hair, it won’t scream, it’ll just slowly simmer down and turn into ashes. we form ourselves via our STUFF. we build out sense of self, when we remember that our narrow corridor that leads to our bedroom has this sharp turn right between the bathroom and your bedroom and you need to be careful not to hit your little toe with the 5-story figurine dresser, ive been always complaining just how dangerously placed it was, for 17 years. but my parents never bothered placing it somewhere else. after literally having my skin completely shaved off on the little toe of my foot several hundred times, that little flaw in furniture organization grew on me. i never stopped being angry when i knocked my little toe, but i’ll miss it. to this day, i always get panicky when i cross narrow corridors and i always pay extra fucking careful and take 10 eyes and watch what’s past the corner even when im on the street, it’s something that got embedded into the DNA of my personality, just by living in this house for as long as i did. It’s never going to disappear. when i see someone walking towards me on the opposite direction i always make a whole lotta way for them to pass through and my third eye is looking at my little toe. just because. i’m not sorry for it, but i’ll always know why i have this oddly neurotic cute defect lol. i don’t know how im gonna cope when the real moment comes. im tryin to visualize it. but something’s really blocked off. a marble wall in my mind. symmetrical hands placed evenly on a warm face that hasn’t been touched in a while. walls that can speak, but i can’t listen anymore, not that i dont want to, but maybe i’m starting to forget the unique language me and this house created back when we were just kids. growing pains.