Last weekend I moved out of my parent's house.
Didn't I already do that? I mean, I am thirty-three years old. Oh yeah, I did move out.
In 1996, to the U of MN.
And in 2003, to Somalia.
And in 2004, to Djibouti.
And in 2006, again to Djibouti.
And in 2007, to Djibouti.
And in 2009, to Djibouti yet again.
And now, in 2011, to Minneapolis.
We spend roughly every other summer invading my parent's house but this time, since we are in the US for an entire year, we thought we would give them (and us) some breathing room. We moved into a house near the University campus.
Yesterday while running errands I realized, 'hey, I am in Minnesota but no one knows where I am' and more to the point, 'my parents don't know where I am.'
Then I came home and did laundry. I did not use a laundromat or a clothesline for drying. I used the washer and drying in the basement of the house I now live in. I wiped up a spill on the floor. I took out the trash. I fixed a broken part on the sink. I organized a linen closet. I registered our house for garbage and water. I did it all in American: English and blue jeans.
I feel like such a grown-up.