I moved from Lafayette to Elmhurst last Saturday. The move was stressful because it meant dealing with my parents for an entire day...eep, I'm on my way to live with them for 9 straight weeks.
On Sunday my parents made me spend the entire day moving stuff into and out of my bedroom. All of the days since then I am expected to spend 8 hours a day unpacking myself and re-organizing my room in order to fit an entire houseful of crap into my little room at home. I didn't realize I was expected to work for 8 hours until last night when my mom was nagging me for not doing much during the day and I tried to justify it by telling her I was driving my brother around for 2 hours trying to get him a key to get into his car that he locked both sets of keys into followed by spending 3 hours helping my cousin with new-born twins and 2 Labradors . She seriously looked at me and goes, "That's not even 8 hours."
Living at home has brought out the true morning person within me. I generally wake up between 7 and 7:30 eat cheerios with my mom while watching lame morning programing. I then either read outside or watch a movie on TV (yesterday I watched "Just my Luck" and I don't recommend it to anyone.) Usually my mom calls at 8:30 to tell me something she forgot to tell me before she left. By 10 I check to see if my brother is ready to wake up and hang out with me and he's usually not. At 11 my mom calls to see what we want for dinner. At 11:30 Kevin and I make lunch together (today we had smoothies and hot dogs using the one and only David Windmiller's fruit (you guys should check out his blog for real. Now there are comments))
A lot of times my mom stops by at noon to make sure we're both awake and maybe grabs a bite to eat.
After lunch I brainstorm jobs I can do for the next 2 months with little luck - I might try and substitute teach at the local schools knowing full well that if I ever have to step foot at York and see Schoenberg it will be super awkward. I might also try and tutor.
At about 3:30 or 4, I start to actually work on my room so that when my mom comes home at 5 it looks like I've been working all day (she's easily deceived)
I then try and get out of the house with little luck because I don't really know anyone in town and don't know where I can play ultimate yet.
Hopefully quality of life will improve soon but otherwise the 9 weeks won't pass soon enough.
I live in Chicago now. I work for the government. I bought a Labrador retriever named Moose. I met a guy named Enrico. We're getting married. Dan Baker might live in the apartment above me. Only two of these things are true
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I'm a detail professional Kata.
I moved from Lafayette to Elmhurst last Saturday. The move was stressful because it meant dealing with my parents for an entire day...eep, I'm on my way to live with them for 9 straight weeks.
On Sunday my parents made me spend the entire day moving stuff into and out of my bedroom. All of the days since then I am expected to spend 8 hours a day unpacking myself and re-organizing my room in order to fit an entire houseful of crap into my little room at home. I didn't realize I was expected to work for 8 hours until last night when my mom was nagging me for not doing much during the day and I tried to justify it by telling her I was driving my brother around for 2 hours trying to get him a key to get into his car that he locked both sets of keys into followed by spending 3 hours helping my cousin with new-born twins and 2 Labradors . She seriously looked at me and goes, "That's not even 8 hours."
Living at home has brought out the true morning person within me. I generally wake up between 7 and 7:30 eat cheerios with my mom while watching lame morning programing. I then either read outside or watch a movie on TV (yesterday I watched "Just my Luck" and I don't recommend it to anyone.) Usually my mom calls at 8:30 to tell me something she forgot to tell me before she left. By 10 I check to see if my brother is ready to wake up and hang out with me and he's usually not. At 11 my mom calls to see what we want for dinner. At 11:30 Kevin and I make lunch together (today we had smoothies and hot dogs using the one and only David Windmiller's fruit (you guys should check out his blog for real. Now there are comments))
A lot of times my mom stops by at noon to make sure we're both awake and maybe grabs a bite to eat.
After lunch I brainstorm jobs I can do for the next 2 months with little luck - I might try and substitute teach at the local schools knowing full well that if I ever have to step foot at York and see Schoenberg it will be super awkward. I might also try and tutor.
At about 3:30 or 4, I start to actually work on my room so that when my mom comes home at 5 it looks like I've been working all day (she's easily deceived)
I then try and get out of the house with little luck because I don't really know anyone in town and don't know where I can play ultimate yet.
Hopefully quality of life will improve soon but otherwise the 9 weeks won't pass soon enough.
I live in Chicago now. I work for the government. I bought a Labrador retriever named Moose. I met a guy named Enrico. We're getting married. Dan Baker might live in the apartment above me. Only two of these things are true
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