I've Said it Time and Time Again...

My poor mother. It seems like every few months she hears the same words come out of my mouth. This morning was no different.

"Mom, I need to get outta here," I said, and like she always does she turned around in her chair to look at me and said like she always says, she said, You're ready aren't you?
And I said like I always say, Yeah, pretty much.

You see, I've said it plenty of times in the last few weeks, I'm moving - usually in the context of "this cannot get too serious, I'm moving" or "I'm not going to serve you food for too long because I'm moving" or "I'm not sure what I'm doing but I'm moving" - but it wasn't until yesterday, I think, that it sorta hit me.

I had a day off for the first time in ages where I sat in my room and did nothing productive, surrounded by dirty socks and boxes filled with my stuff stacked to the ceiling. I went to pub quiz like I've been doing every Tuesday for three months, then I went out with some co-workers like I've done every day for weeks and as I walked back to my car with that co-worker I've told, I'm moving to several times in that "I'm moving, this cannot get too serious" way, but last night, for the first time I said it - I'm moving - and it was for me.

I'm moving.

Well shit, I thought, here it is, November 1st and I'm moving in two months and I've spent the last couple months and several weeks with my head properly shoved up my ass. I think it's time to re-focus.

In fact I know it's time because I woke up this morning and my first thought was the most terrifying one it could possibly be. I woke up in my bed after a restful night's sleep, opened my eyes and my first thought of today (November 2nd) was, I miss Los Angeles.

I miss Los Angeles?

You have got to be kidding me.

It swarmed over me before I opened my eyes, before I sat up, before I stood up and had a cup of coffee. I missed my couch, my newspaper, my coffeemaker, my space, my apartment, my reclusive routine. I missed a huge city, my bed, my books, my stuff, my room, my roommate. I really just... missed it, missed it all.

And I thought, man, it's time to get outta here if I've gone crazy enough to think I've missed Los Angeles when I've really just missed myself and my life and my space and my independence.

So I sat up and the first thing I saw was my still opened, half-packed little vintage suitcase that's been sitting on my floor since last Thursday when I arrived home from New York and the blue suede heels that sat next to it - the ones I wore when I was in New York two months ago - and I thought, uh, this is ridiculous, I need to get outta here.

So I poured my coffee and walked downstairs and looked at the back of my mom's head and said those words I've said time and time again, Mom, I need to get outta here. It's no longer shocking or dramatic or a big deal in any sort of way, it's just right. And it's certainly time.