Leaving On a Jet Plane... Again

Another year, another move.

For my whole life, I have been moving. My first move occurred when I was 3 months old, and it was a cross-country move, like many other moves would be. I have lived in 4 California cities, 1 Massachusetts city, and 2 Brazilian cities. Not, of course, in that order, there was much more bopping around back and forth, but it's easier to write about in that grouping.

So you'd think I would be used to it by now, but in fact moving has become harder and harder as I get older. When I was a kid, I didn't have to pack anything except for my toys. I never had the traumatic experience of losing a friend because I was very social and easily made friends wherever I went, and school always kept me occupied and happy. But now there is an entire household of furniture to think about, and other responsibilities like paying rent, registering a car, finding a job, and making friends requires more effort when there are no built in activities like there were in school.

There is also the accumulation of stuff. Oh, so much STUFF, so many THINGS. I kept most of it because I thought, "This might be useful to have at some later point," or "Oh, this reminds me of [insert special person or place or event]." I'm only 23, yet I feel like I might need to take on the sort of mass purging that many women in their 40s and 50s are doing. I have toys from my childhood that I kept for their sentimental value and because you can't buy them anymore and maybe my future children would like them. But is that rational? Should I spend the money to keep them with me, or burden my parents by taking up a bunch of space for my old toys in the basement? (Note: I thought about this while I was watching Toy Story 3, with tears streaming down my face.) And am I really going to read through the notes I took in my college courses? Will I need the papers I wrote for future reference? Maybe some? Which ones? And the books. Oh, the books. As a reader since the age of 5 and an English major, I must have hundreds of books. It certainly feels that way. I love them, and I know paper is heavy, but I don't know how I could get rid of them.

This next move is particularly big because it's also the first time I'm going to move in with my boyfriend. Me! Living with a man! I'm also moving to a city I've never been to and I don't know where I'll be living because he's going ahead of me and picking the apartment. If that doesn't show trust, I don't know what does.

Routines are important

One of many lessons I must now take to heart.

In the quasi-scientific experiment I have been conducting over the past few weeks, I have found that I almost exclusively get pimples when I don't wash my face before going to bed. After one night of a skipped cleansing, one or two whiteheads will appear. After two nights of "Oh I'm too tired, I don't have to because I didn't put on any makeup" there are 2-3 more pimples. And it's always easier to keep them gone by washing up every night than it is to eliminate all the blemishes and get back to square one: the clear face.

Also, all that flossing I didn't do over the years? Totally biting me in the ass now. According to the rude dentists whose office I will never use again, one of my cavity fillings has broken and the gaping whole in that tooth is exposed, my wisdom teeth are impacted, and one of my molars should be removed because it's rotting beneath the gum line. Wonderful.

So, boys and girls, if you wish not to be ridden with pustules and hope to avoid dentures before becoming a senior citizen, do not carelessly disregard the bedtime routine.

Introduction: Marissa

I am sure, dear reader, that you realize adultification is not a word you have ever read before, and your search for the word in dictionary.com yielded no results. This is because I made it up. I dreamed it up some months ago as a possible title for something. In my mind, adultification is a process similar to adulteration, by which something pure is altered by the addition of another substance. A person begins life as an innocent child and becomes adultified by experiences both terrible and joyful, as a simple chicken stock becomes a hearty soup by the addition of other raw but wonderful ingredients.

At this point in my life, things have gotten pretty serious. Mainly, I'm not in school anymore and have to start living the life I only ever read about in books. I won't say this is the "real world" because I've always detested that phrase. The life of the mind is very real. My schooling was real; my dreams were real; everything that has happened to me up to this point is real. The only difference now is that I have more control. It is both intoxicating and overwhelming to have control over my own life. What should I do with myself? Sometimes I am confused by the various viable options and end up choosing nothing. But that's no good. I want to make awesome choices that will lead to an awesome life. So here's to 2011, a new year of potentially wonderful decision-making opportunities.