2 years…..

Yesterday marked the beginning of my third year in Colorado.

Matlack and I moved out here on D-Day, also his birthday, June 6th 2007, a month after I graduated from Rutgers.

I didn’t have my shit together, at all, when I first got out here.  Matlack and I were on a policy research trip all around the country (like ya do), and had no plans for what we would do for money after August.  When we got back, I started a temp position at Crocs (WORST FUCKING JOB EVER, NO JOKE), writing for a blog on what used to be Iggli, and teaching SAT classes at Kaplan in Denver.  I was able to make the rent and all that, but it took away from my time to, you know, meet people and hang around in Colorado.

I’ve climbed mountains, I’ve fallen in and out of love.

To this day, all of my friends (with the exception of Mitch, Reise, and H) I met as a result of either

a) Being friends with Sarah McCall, or

b) Meeting them as a result of moving in with them a-la craigslist.

This is in no way to disparage those friendships, they’re the best ones I’ve had in years.  Some truly remarkable people live here in little Boulder; yet I am loathe to call it my home.  As I write, I can hear the sounds of a table saw, hammers hitting chisels, Jessi yelling “owwie!” every 3-6 minutes, H playing his out of tune ukulele, and the overwhelming, uncomfortable, genuinely mysterious silence that is Matt and Kaitelyinngngnn (never cared to learn the proper spelling of her name, but I think that’s as close as I’m gonna get).

I live in a house with more people than bedrooms, and i’m 23.

I wear a suit to work.

Sometimes, I come home and there’s a tattoo being done in my living room.

Sometimes, I come home and the entire house smells like there was a skunk holocaust in the basement.

Sometimes, I come home and there is a hot water heater preventing me from going into my bedroom.

Sometimes, I come home and I can smell something burning, but we never locate the source of the scent.

But never, never do I come home to an empty, lifeless, boring house.

I’m moving to Denver in August, into my own place, just me; because I’m a big boy now.

Didn’t you hear? I wear suits to work now.

But I’m a bit anxious about the whole thing.  I’ve never in my life lived on my own, here’s the flowchart of roomates I’ve had:

Ages 1-3 – Ed and Terry

Ages 3-17 -  Ed, Terry, and Alex

Ages 17-18 – Gavin

Age 18-19 – Fafa, Egg, Rob, Greg, Carly, Bif, Twins, and some other people I don’t remember (there were 11 of us)

Age 19-20 – Sonjelle, Noah, Sean, Doug, Gavin (again), Izzy, Emily, Andrew, Daryl, Joe, Neil, Heather, Jason, some kid who lived in Jason’s room for a minute

Age 20-20.5 – In a car with Sonjelle and Noah, then in Boulder with Sarah

Age 20.5-21 – My Parents, for senior year of college

Age 21-22 – Matlack, Riker, Dave

Age 22-23 – Jessi, Greg, H, Matt, Katelisngsghlyn, Porter, LoLo,

Age 23-24 – me.

So, as you can see, I’ve never ever lived alone, not for a minute, or a day, in my life; unless you count the endless months I’ve spent in hotel rooms all over the country.

Still, someone makes your bed and cleans up after you.

Needless to say, this is a nerve-racking experience; and I don’t know if I’m ready for it.  I like coming home to relatively controlled chaos.  I like getting into fights with my roomates about “who the fuck drank all my milk” (it wasn’t me, i only drink almond milk).  I like coming home to tattoo machines whirring and that undeniable smell of incense and patchouli.

I will miss it, but this is the right thing to do.  I won’t burn my bridges, time and wildfires do a fine job all on their own.

Year 3 of the great experiment.  Most of the kids I know either have moved back in with their parents, or are in the process of doing just that.  And more power to them.  If my parents lived in Colorado, you bet your ass I’d be living with free food and free rent; and probably have a lot, a lot, a lot, of extra cash.