The last rites of the slowly separating.

My sister was late for school this morning for the eleventy fifth time this year (truly, any record I may’ve held for tardiness/absences, she has completely surpassed), so she was leaving to walk to school a little before I was leaving for the train. I was running a few minutes behind, as I often tend to do once I’ve hit Mid Semester Burnout, so I managed to catch up to her. We walked together, chatting idly about nothing in particular as we went, and separated once we reached the intersection so we could go our way into what the day had planned.

It took me three seconds after I hugged and said goodbye her to realize just how inanely symbolic this was. And then I realized that this was something we rarely did, being six years apart in age always meant being a wide stretch of grades ahead. So between that, and the fact that we won’t be living together a little over a month from now, we’d never be doing anything like this again.

Very moving. And so very, very annoying.

It’s official as of this passing weekend; my sisters and I will all be moving to separate corners of New England, while my parents get a place together to settle in now that we’ve officially been given the boot by our landlord. My mother cries at random, my father’s about as impassive externally as ever, R’s in the same boat, and E’s choosing random moments to get really extremely emotional. Which is what it is, it’s an emotional time.

But I’ve really been trying to take the situation with some semblance of dignity and grace, and that’s going out the window faster than I can latch onto it. There’s too many little things that won’t be happening anymore. Soon ‘My Room’, as I said before , will never again be My Room. It will be Some Schmuck’s Room, and I’ll have no claim to it.

Nor will I have claim to Our Living Room, Our Kitchen (piece of crap that it is, it’s still ours), or even Our Hallway, for Christ’s sake. There will be no weekend wars over cleaning, but there’ll also be no Random Acts of Takeout, no We’re Going to Love Each Other If It Kills Us, none of it.

Well, maybe that last one. I don’t think we’re ever going to lose that one. But you get the idea.

My cat, Callie, (or Callie the Cocaine Kitty she’s sometimes called for her spastic ways) will be going with my parents. There’re currently two dogs taking up residence at N’s house (Petey (alias Petey Pablo, Pee-hee-hee-heety!, and so on), and Steve (alias Bubba)) and they’d likely eat her if I took her along. And besides, N’s mother (Or Mom 2.0, as she will be known here), is allergic. So that idea’s been punted clean across the field.

We’re constantly discussing in snippets how we’re going to pack everything up, things we should be doing before the move, things that we’ll never get to do again once we have moved. Mom keeps emphasizing how we’re all going to stay in touch, and Dad has insisted my sisters are put on our cellphone plan so there’s no reason for them to stay out of contact. Although, knowing them, they will find a reason. But that’s a moot point, isn’t it.

There’s still that attempt to make it easier to sever ties, and I find myself doing it constantly just as much as everyone else; pointing out all the positive ends, all the things I hated about living at home that I’ll never have to deal with again, how this is finally a shot at a life outside my family. I might be able to write more often, or go out with my camera more, because I won’t be bogged down in all that turmoil and shit.

But how I’m going to cope with disentangling myself, at least initially, is beyond me right now. And how this forced evolution is going to work out in the end for all of us, how it’ll play out, is also unfathomable. And I think my mother’s looking to me for assurances that this is going to work out, but I can’t give them to her. I’m good, but I’m not that good.

All this, and I’m going to see Melancholia after I get out of class today.

I don’t see anything at all that could be unintelligent about that.

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~ by Sara on November 29, 2011.

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