Moving is a stressful time for anyone, especially nesters like myself. I’ve been in the same apartment for seven years. I am a person that enjoys having roots and growth. The instability of my youth has deepened my desire to have a home, to abandon gypsy life.
The new apartment is in the same building but I’m moving without any assistance. I have friends that say they will help, though so far, after the first day, they have not arrived to help; or had to cancel at the last minute to stay at work. This is acceptable to me because I can move most of the small boxes and furniture on my own, but I do hope that friends are able to come through with their aide on the weekend, when I need to move the heavy furniture.
Friendships have always come difficultly for me. I do not know why. I have always envisioned myself as a nice person. Conversely, I have been horrible I relationships. My boyfriends were always good boyfriends, but they weren’t good boyfriends for me. Being in relationships required greater socialization than I can handle in any given moment. I would rather be home – writing, drawing, cooking – than to be out in the community. My home is a cocoon to rest and recharge. It is a place where I can fix-up and modify the next day’s necessary identity. The nomadic and public life is draining, removing the necessary recuperation period.