November 14, 2010

Moving, Again

At least the horse didn't have underwear to ruin.

So, I move a lot. Like, in the 5 years I've lived in San Diego I've had 8 different addresses, and I'm about to get a ninth. That's darn close to moving every 6 months. And believe it or not, I'm about over it.

Also believe it or not, I don't move on a whim. I am a terrible roommate picker. When I first moved here I decided to live with a friend of the family who went to my school. She was certifiably insane, but I stuck it out for a year and a half before I threw in the towel. The next house I lived in was OK, some typical roommate problems (girlfriends moving in and being messy...) but I moved because the lease ended and we all went our separate ways. The next house had one girl who refused to acknowledge I existed (not so much as a nod when we passed each other in the hall) and another who made giant, smelly messes in the kitchen and left them for a week. The next house... well, the next house had a 6 year old whose dad hit on me, a messy girlfriend who lived for free because she walked around half naked, a roommate wrapped around a crumbling "open" marriage, and a host of smaller issues. Then (and this was without a doubt the worst decision of my entire life) I moved into a new house with the roommate and the girl who was leaving her husband for him, and my sister. Very shortly after that was the glorious year I lived in my studio. I remember first seeing the Craigslist ad for it, seeing the place, checking out the location, and thinking, "this is too good to be true." But it wasn't. I know some of my neighbors didn't have the greatest experience, and I'm sure I had gotten to such a low point with roommates that any experience living solo would be great, but it really was the greatest. Unfortunately, a month after signing the lease I got laid off. I was able to stay the whole year, but towards the end finances were so tight. So I got another address. I ended up with a great roommate (but I knew he'd be great ahead of time, so it wasn't like I got lucky or anything) but we lived in a boring area in an apartment neither of us liked. Less than six months later I had yet another address.

And the roommate at this address rivals the first I had: either certifiably insane or on hardcore drugs. I knew he was a little weird when I moved in (and I've written about my annoyances before), but the events of the last week have made me so fucking glad I have a new address all lined up. A few nights ago I was all curled up in bed, lights out, TV off, winding down a text message convo with a buddy, just closing my eyes... when from the next room I hear, "NO! OH NO! NO NO NO NO!" THUD. He jumps out of bed, runs around his room and slams doors for a few seconds. Then he tears off down the hallway, booming like a minotaur, throws open the front door and runs outside. At 1 AM. In his boxers. Meanwhile, I'm very awake, very terrified, double checking the lock on my door and peeking out my window at the crazed man in his underwear on the sidewalk, silently but furiously begging him to not come to my window. Suddenly he calms down, turns around, walks back in the house, slams his bedroom door, and starts talking. He talks every now and then, and I can never tell if he's on the phone, on Skype or if he might even have someone in there. Now I'm starting to believe he's not talking to anyone... he's just talking. For the next two nights he screamed in the same way, but didn't get up. All I could do was send a text or two, just in case something went wrong, and countdown in my head until I get the keys to the new place. I was actually too afraid to go to a friend's house because unlocking the door and going down that hall was way too scary.

So I think I'm pretty justified in moving, again. Though I will admit to getting real pleasure from the process. Hunting on Craigslist, seeing apartments, feeling that tingle when you find the right one, then setting up my new room, trying out my new kitchen, finding the right place for everything feels really good. I can only imagine when I'm looking for a house... the process will probably consume my life for at least a year. But I imagine liking that year very much. And when that happens I think I will be very happy to stay in one place for a long time, to not have anything to escape, to not feel the need to leave. Someday.

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