Is Manhattan in the House?

I'm moving. Moving at last. Moving out of my parent's house. Moving into the city. Manhattan. Upper West Side.

The apartment will probably be ready to move into in about two-three months. Why? Can't really get into it here, but e-mail me if you want the whole story. It's not as sexy as the secrecy makes it sound, but it is good.

This is good because I'll be on my own. I-N-D-E-P-E-N-D-E-N-T (imagine it like the way Mos Def says it in B-Boy Document). It's good because I can stop comparing myself to the character in the Flannery O'Conner story I always forget the name of. It's good because I can finally move past the sense of being caught in an emotional regression that makes me feel like everyday I spend at home with my parents I get one day younger. If you think about this closely, as I have done, I might very well be both the oldest, at 27, and youngest, at 16, person you know to move out of their parents house.