The Last Box

To begin something new with the last of something else may be a bit ominous, but it is not wholly unusual.  Much like moving.  That last box reminds you of the end of where you've been in life, up to this point.  But then you move, and you get to unpack that last box; offering yourself a sense of permanence and completion.  And a well deserved sigh of relief. You have now begun a new home with the last of your old home.  In an ideal world this would be how everyone saw things (at least, that's my opinion).  And as it turns out we do not live in this ideal world.

So lets face it: NO ONE likes to move.

Packing while balancing class work can be hard enough, but to add in work, a theatre production, and a BA thesis makes it miserable.  Now, slap on the fact that it is your graduating semester and you have 3 months to get out of your house and you are in for a hell of a time.  Enter my boyfriend.

An absolute sweetheart to the end, supportive like none other, and graduating at the same time - he is my tree.  I would use the term rock here, but rocks do not grow with you.  They are relatively stagnant and quite frankly - dead.  A tree is at least alive.  I don't think things would have gone as well as they did if we had not been there for each other.

Shortly after graduation it came time to move.  Enter our current roommate: the drag queen.

I do quite vividly remember praying that if I were to move out on my own that my roommate be gay.  I still chalk it up to watching too many sitcoms and movies, but that's a bit beside the point now.  I also remember saying "And God please, if you think me deserving of this awesome roommate, just please, can you also make him a Drag Queen?"  It took a few years for that particular prayer to be answered, two of which were spent in the theatre department which of course helped, but here we are.

Now it is the three of us, and my cat, in a two bed-one bath apartment just outside of Sacramento.  This is our lives, our adventures, and much more.  Enjoy.