I do know I'm not going to be able to live at home for long. Too much stuff I need access to. Fuck, I have two bookcases here which are overflowing. Asking me to go back to living in the box room back home with all my damn stuff in a box is just stupid. I need a job and somewhere to live, and soon. Bah. Bah, I say.
This isn't, of course, the main thought running through my head. That's more the chaos and madness that's been seen in my four years as a professional student, and how that's all over now. The nights staying up past dawn to watch the sunrise with a cigarette back in Alexandra Road. Racing back to the halls at three in the morning, pushing Scotty in a shopping trolley because he was too drunk to sit in a taxi, watching Steve jump the fence near Uni as if he were Superman, and his hung over call the next day when he woke up with a bloody leg. Standing out in the summer thunderstorms and the winter blizzards in Munich with a cigarette, glad to be alive to experience that and wishing I was inside. Writing six thousand words a day for four and a half days to get my final year project done. Quitting smoking. Visiting Kris, and having Kris visit me. Spending a week without having 24 hours not stoned. Kebabs with extra chili sauce. Discovering Stolichnaya and the concept of the good rock night. Having cable Internet access for the first time. House barbecues. Mage and Werewolf games other people would kill to be in. Giant robots. Weirdness on a primal level. Running gunfights with BB guns in the house. Sleeping though lectures, sleeping in lectures and correcting the lecturer on the discrete logarithm problem. Random hours spent trying to get Myth more money, random hours spent running off-the-cuff games. Wandering the streets at four in the morning needing money for the electricity meter. Midnight philosophy. Good music on tap from the distributed MP3 collection. Meeting Aaron. Living with people I honestly consider to be good friends. Passing more than one Hogmanay with Paul. Living the life I love and being damn good at it.
And now, all that's left is to take down the posters, turn out the lights and lock the door on my way out. Going back to a small corner of a house without so much as a lock on the door, all independence stripped from me. And people think I should be happy to be moving. The next person to suggest that is going to be stabbed.
Fuck. It's sunrise in Baghdad. I should turn in. Make sure I'm rested for the move.