Moving On Out
<<2003-03-01 - 6:23 p.m.>>

Thank God.

Not a minute too soon. The Dread Roommate has attempted to barricade me either in or out of my room with a bicycle. For several days, I would move it out of the way so I could get out of my door, and she would move it back. Closer and closer. Making harder and harder to get in or out. And finally she rearranged the furniture in the furniture-tangle that is the bulk of her room, angled her bedframe farther in toward my door and levered it with her bookshelf so that I couldn't move it back when I tried, all this so that the bicycle is shoved directly up against my door and I collide with it as soon as I attempt exit.

I feel like she's waging a campaign of terror, and I'm moving out.

I've spent two weeks in this weird am-I-or-am-I-not limbo, in which I've taken steps toward moving out without actually deciding for real, in my head, if I'm actually moving. It's like a mental taffy. It sticks to things and clogs up the works, and I start to think Well, maybe I should just stick it out, I mean, my dorm's so nice, and I'll miss living next door to Trixi, and I'll miss baths and having my key card coded for ODB so that I can go visit whoever I want whenever I want without making them come downstairs to get me... And it's just not productive. I'm in a bad situation. I should get myself out of it. End of story.

It's just that I've never done that before and don't really know how. Never said I deserve better than this. Never said I'm removing myself from this destructive situation. Never really had the power to. I mean, when your destructive situation is your family life, what are you supposed to do? I learned to cope as best as I could, and now I have to unlearn how to cope in that way, because it's just not helpful.

I wonder if I'll feel better after I move.

Even now I'm not sure I'm really moving. Claire's arranging her rooms for my entry.

I'm moving. I'm moving. You hear, self? MOVING.

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