You Can Go Home Again, Especially if You Have to

Because I know everyone is at the edge of their seats wondering when I’m going to move out of my parents’ house, how my relationship with my parents is enduring our roommate situation, etc., I wanted to let you all know that, just in time for the holidays, my parents have finally let me move back into my old bedroom. It’s a Christmas miracle!

It only took two sinus infections and the guest room exploding out into the hallway for my parents to realize that the dungeon-like conditions they had subjected me to were unfair and unreasonable. Also, I think they realized their evil plan of getting me to move out in a short amount of time was not working. At. All.

Considering what my previous living conditions looked like before I moved home, you’d think I would have been happy with just having a bed. But if I’m painting a picture for you guys – and I am, in case you didn’t know what all of this was – the guest room prior to my shift across the hall looked eerily similar to where Osama bin Laden was living when he got killed. With pairs of jeans and boots exploding all over the place.

In addition to all of this, I’ve come to terms with the fact that I need to hit the lotto or marry rich to ever afford a livable apartment in New York City. My parents’ guest room was probably bigger than any studio apartment I can afford right now, and my current room (which looks so catalog-y right now, doesn’t it?) might as well be the Taj Mahal.

Oh well. Hi, Mom and Dad.