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In the Words of Billy Joel, "I'm Moving Out."

... except there's much less malice in that phrase in accordance with my life than it is in that song. Good old Billy Joel; I can look to his songs and find one for every one of my frequently changing moods.

I went to his concert with a friend of mine a couple months ago (I can't really remember when, exactly... but who's counting days??), and I must say that I fell in love with him and his music all over again. Seriously, the man is a genius. Sure, his singing voice may not be top notch, but just listen to the music. I couldn't imagine anyone else singing it. Also, the works are phenomenal. His lyrics matched with his melodies... Wow. Plus, he is a brilliant performer. If you ask me, one of the best ones of our time. He doesn't need to flash his pecks like the talentless muck that parades our concert stages today. All he needs to do is step out on stage and sing his songs. Now, that's talent.

Back to the point of this blog... I'm slowly but steadily making my way out of my parents' house. I've got the majority of my books (about 75% that ends up filling 10 and 1/2 moving boxes), and today I'm bringing a good chunk of my clothes over. Really, all that I lack is the rest of my clothes and books (which can be taken over in one trip) and various odds and ends. I'm thinking 3 more trips between the house and the new apartment. I'm glad that I didn't have a deadline to move out like my sister did; I think that I would have had a nervous breakdown. I mean, I'm moving from a place that I've lived since I was FIVE. Do you realize how much CRAP I have stowed away in all of the nooks and crannies of my room? I found stuff that I haven't seen since elementary school. Crazy. There were a lot of memories to be had, though.

For example, there was this book that my mom bought me WAY back when... We thought it was a picture book. I was just starting my lifelong obsession with books, and I saw this beautifully covered book that had a picture of a unicorn on it (I was a little girl, so unicorns were very appealing to me.). At once, I had to have it. I didn't even look inside (So much for never judging a book by it's cover, right?). I begged my mother, and eventually she gave in, because, come on... What mother is going to refuse a child when the child shows an adamant interest in reading?? Well, we brought the book home, and I open to find blank pages. All of them... blank. Well, not all of them. Some of the pages were pictures. So it was a picture book... It was just a picture book that you were supposed to fill in, kind of like Samwise at the end of Lord of the Rings (I know, excuse me while I snort and push my glasses further up my nose... but I thought it was applicable.). Anyways, I remember sitting down and freaking out, because I couldn't think of what to do with this story. Heck, I could barely write (You see several instances in the pages that I didn't know how to spell beautiful... I ended up spelling it byootifull. Hooked on phonics worked for me!)! On some of the pages, the writing changes drastically-- and also suspiciously-- to my sister's handwriting. It was on those pages that I begged my sister to write for me. I don't really remember my reasoning, but I wanted her to write nevertheless. Reading that book just reminded me where my love for books and writing all began. I guess I have my mother to thank for that.

In a lot of ways, I have really taken my parents for granted. They are wonderful people-- annoying as fingernails on a chalkboard at times, but wonderful people. Sure, they have their faults like the rest of us, and as their daughter I have this unreasonable standard set for them to be perfect and infallible. I guess as a little girl I thought that they were perfect, that what they said was how it was, that they were the gods of my little sheltered world. I didn't understand that they were human, that they made mistakes. I understand that now, and I'm doing my best not to expect perfection from them (I know they've long since given up on perfection from me.). As someone's kid, you expect them to always be there for you to pick you up when you fall, and it's good that you feel that you can trust them. But you reach a point where you do things not because you think, "Oh, mom and dad will pick me up if I fail," but because you want to be able to pick yourself up after you fail. It's that silly independence thing that starts to itch it's way into your skin once high school comes to a close. At least that's when it hit me. It might have come a little late for me compared to others, but... Hey! At least it hit me at all!

Cocoa's getting better, which lightens my heart so much. It's still unsure as to whether we're going to put her to sleep or not, but only time will tell that story. I had always hoped that she'd die peacefully in her sleep in our home. I hope that's how her story ends.


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