Extra, rants

I Finally Get My Own Room | The Last Year of University Pt. 2

the short story

Moving out is (not surprisingly) just as physically and emotionally exhausting as a four hour daily commute.

the long story

I have always shared my bedroom. When I got my first bed–a bunk bed with my sister–it was set up in the master bedroom with my parents’ bed. The bed’s purchase and placement were both due to a lack of space: my sister and I were getting too big to share a queen with our aunt, and the house didn’t have a spare bedroom. When we moved, I lost the roommates of my parents and my baby brother, but still shared with my sister. We were supposed to get our own rooms when the house was rebuilt, but for some reason or another, it never happened.

This isn’t to say I don’t like sharing a room with my sister. We’re close, and have never had a fight that made it hard to share a room. But now that we’re both past twenty, a room for two girls is beginning to feel like a room for one and a half adults.

Enter university with a near two-hour commute by public transit, one way. That alone is rough. Add the exhaustion of waking up early to make to eight o-clock classes, coming home late after 3-hour long labs, and then actually studying once I got home, and you get a very tired Leanna.

Despite all this, moving out, while an easy decision at first, was a hard one to actually commit to. I spent weeks on craigslist looking for places to stay, then would go to viewings after work. At first, I thought I was being very picky–I wanted a good bathroom, laundry, kitchen, and room that I could comfortably wash/cook/eat/study/sleep in. And at a reasonable price (as reasonable as it can get in Vancouver).

And I thought I found it. There was a house renting out individual rooms, all female, new appliances, great bedroom.

And then I waiting too long, and all the rooms filled up.

So I had to start all over again.

startover

I eventually did find a place. A little pricey, but it was closer to school, the room was bigger, and I more or less had my own bathroom.

Packing put me in a panic though, I was incredibly stressed out over it, despite only having to pack for one person. Now, five days later, I don’t know if I was freaking out about packing, or leaving home. But, with the help of my mom, we did it. My stuff was packed, the room was cleaned, and I was moved in. And here’s my room:

img_20160911_152328

I love being in there, which is great considering that I’m spending a lot of my time locked away studying (I have 6 courses this term). I’ve worked out a system of cooking, and I’m thinking about getting a used bike since (1) I live close enough to bike to school and (2) my schedule makes me sprint through campus to get from class to class on time.

But there’s just one thing: I miss home.

The house is unnervingly quiet since I’m the only girl living there full time. There are some guys in the basement, but we don’t talk, and my landlady is rarely in the house. To fill the silence I listen to podcasts and music–usually without headphones since there is no one to complain.

Well, I am getting a roommate today: she’s moving after school, so hopefully things get better.

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