Moving day is Monday. Everything needs to be packed by tomorrow to take to Jero's. This means I'm scrambling around my room trying to pack.
I eventually get to my little fireplace where all of my pictures, jewelry, and knickknacks are and I stop.
I am actually doing this. I am leaving my family and going four hours away into a town that I know nothing about. The only people I know who will be there is my sister and Jero. That's it. I'm terrified. I am so bloody terrified. No more random visits from my grandparents or uncle. No more, "You hungry? Let's go out to eat at the Catfish Cabin." No more, "Hey, I'm going to go see Grandmother. I'll be back in a bit." No more, "Want to go hunting with me tomorrow?"
No more of that. It's gone. And it feels like it's snuck up on me. I've been working so much that I am finally able to settle down and visit family... and I have no more time. An important person in my life is in bad shape, health-wise and probably won't make it to see 2015. And here I am moving. After finally reconciling with her, I am going to be leaving.
Hell, I am even already missing my pets so terribly that I've been petting my dog's head for what feels like hours every night I come in. I've been cuddling the barn cat (my baby, basically) even though it messes with my allergies to the point of being sick. This is killing me.
This is what I need. This is what I want. But this is still my first time actually moving out on my own. What I have known for close to 22 years is ending on Monday... I know, I am being a baby right now. I know most of you are thinking I should get over it. I will get over it eventually. It won't take me long. I'll call everyone and probably talk to family more now than I am use to. But that doesn't mean I'm not scared.