the_wanlorn: The Doubtful Guest (Default)
When I was 18 I, for all intents and purposes, moved out of my parents' house. It started with moving to college where, when I "went home," I meant that I was taking the train to a friend's house nearly every weekend. That summer, my parents' house became more of a stopping place while I bounced between friends' couches.

Sophomore year, I made it almost all the way through before I said fuck this shit and moved into an apartment up in Somerville. This was 2007. I made it there almost a year (and, in retrospect, I should have just stayed there) until I convinced a friend to move to Massachusetts and get an apartment with me in early 2008.

We stayed in that first apartment for six months, and then moved when the landlord wanted to jack the rent up by five hundred dollars or so. The next apartment was totally fucking awesome and I loved it, even though I didn't really ever leave my bedroom.

So this morning, I was thinking about how it's June, which means I've lived in this apartment for a year! And how great it was when I moved in, and I was... taking classes at Worcester State... and failing at GSOC during the summer... and oh dear god I've lived here for two whole years.

Two years.

Internet, this is longer than I have lived anywhere since I was eighteen. I've gone from living in four places in three years to... staying put? I assumed I'd be moving every six months or so for the rest of my life, since that's about the time when I start getting itchy feet. Realizing that I've lived here two whole years is weirdly jarring.

And now that I've been here so long, it's weird to think that I most likely won't make it through three years here, since I finally graduate in December.

Time: it's fucking hard.

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MICHAEL: One evening, a patient was brought into my clinic in the middle of the night. He was tortured so badly I couldn’t believe he was still breathing. A man was with him. It was the man on your radio. I’ll never forget the voice. He put a gun to my head and explained to me that my patient had robbed him and that he wanted me to save him so the pain would last longer. I did what I could. He said to come here for my money — my blood money. There’s a place between life and death. Amazing how long a man can linger there.
PRESCOTT: That’s enough, all right? Okay. Bring everything upstairs. We’re getting out of here. Tony? Tony, can you hear me?
THUG: What the hell is going on?
MICHAEL: I know this guy. He’ll have people outside the bank, in your truck,and on your boat. You have no idea who you’re dealing with.
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