“Does it feel real yet?” “I think so?” I scanned my much emptier home. One stack of boxes sat in the furthest corner, the other behind me. I had been in this house for seven years now, which in the time of typical early-to-mid-20’s apartment hopping felt like a lifetime.

I get distracted so easily, it’s embarrassing. Music of any kind is absolutely out of the question. If I’m reading, I cut off at least 45 minutes so that with every word my mind doesn’t flit to work that needs to be done, dishes that need to be cleaned, cats that need to fed.