I’ve been majorly sucking at this whole blogging thing lately. Sorry, between 3 days of no electricity and some major life shifts, it has not been a priority. What has been a priority is my rapidly approaching move to Chicago! The blackout helped motivate my packing, because what else are you supposed to do with no power except go through 22 years of accumulated crap?

Anyone who has stepped into my house knows members of my family are kinda hoarders. Not the scary ones on TV that make mazes out of old magazines and own closets full of unworn clothes, but we definitely hold on too to many useless items. For a long time this was never an issue, I have plenty of drawers and a walk-in closet to hide my ples of keepsakes. But this will not be the case in my new apartment. It is an adorable two-bedroom place on Lake Michigan. There is a living room, dinning room and a mouse-sized kitchen (which currently actually houses a mouse). My bedroom is fairly large and I have a slightly smaller walk-in closet, but regardless, this move is not just a change in locations but marks the beginning of my “real life.” This new life has no room for childhood nostalgia.

But where do you begin? How to you priorities what memories are kept and which are thrown into the trash?  I started with a few dozen issues of Cosmo, anyone who has read one know they are filled with the same thing month after month, only phrased differently: “75 way to please you man,” “how to turn him on in under two minutes,” “what he really wants you to do in bed.” They are ridiculous, entertaining, but unnecessary and they all went into the bag. They were followed by years worth of old notebooks. I thought I would look back at them one day when I needed a refresher in Algebra or to review my Periodic Table. Yeah, right.

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Two months, that is that amount of time I gave myself to be a sad, mopey useless person. Two month to find a job, or hang up my hat and return to lifeguarding. Two months to get a life. Guess what? I did it!

Today I took the train down to Chicago. In my bag I had the book I need to finish by next friday for the book club I just joined, but I didn’t touch it. Instead I sat there refreshing my Twitter feed and thinking of answeres to imaginary questions in my head. I’ve taken this train ride many times, and can almost recite by heart every spot on the hour-long ride downtown. So when the announcer called the stop before Chicago, the jitters in my stomach spread to my entire body.

We arrive at the trains last stop. I was already waiting at the doors, smoothing the wrinkles in my white skirt and pulling down my black top. They open and I am one of the firsts to exit, my heels clink on pavement and I speed through the station. Everyone is moving too slow, the businessmen pouring from the trains, the woman afraid of the revolving doors and the chatting tourists. Nothing was going to slow me down.

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