So, right now I'm sitting on my mom's loveseat with laptop in lap. The tv is on, not that there's much to watch at seven in the morning. Mom's getting ready to head out for her day at local call center. We both are walking masses of body ache and fatigue. There's an RV outside loaded up with boxes of my crap, and my mattress is draped over the lawn mower to help it air out.

2 days. Just two needed to pack up my life and migrate it miles away from campus in a move that will make the commute to classes in the fall... challenging. Not that there aren't practical benefits. I get her cable, and she gets my Netflix. Our book paperback collections get centralized. And the not having to pay over 360 bucks a month will help my student loans last longer.

I just miss living alone already.

I've never been the most social animal. And even though I love my mom in that fine southern mama's boy tradition, I'll miss the quiet of living in my own head. Well, that and not having to wear pants around the house.

But the one nagging image I have is of my father. At the end of his life he was half-drunk all the time living and mooching off my grandmother. And, in all honesty, I would rather stand in front of a semi that run that risk of turning into such an oblivious, soul-dead waste of skin.

But there's a period of adjustment to be expected. And mom'o'mine has been nothing but supportive, and nothing shows that quite like last night. We were both achy and tired and we had just finished packing the last heavy things in her truck. I was skirting the edge of a downswing crying jag and asked her if I was a failure.

She said.. "You're not. Now let's go home."