It’s bittersweet moving back home. I’m going to miss the life I created for myself down south of course, but I’m ecstatic to be back home with my family and friends again. Emphasis on the family part, because of them I didn’t have to rush to find an apartment to live in. I could move right into my parents basement.
But saying it out loud now is kind of embarrassing. I couldn’t let myself be that thirty year old guy living in their parents basement. The only other thing I could do was to move back into my old room… with my brother. It would be just as if we were kids again. We could push our bed together and have our fall off the bed matches, we can see who can make the most socks into their sock drawer, and if we want to get crazy we can even get ourselves some bunk beds.
As long as I can find a way to prevent myself from living that cliche in my parents basement I’ll be happy. I’d rather not be that creepy thirty year old that lives in his parents basement. I’d much rather be that dude who still shares a room with his brother.
I think it sounds a little classier if I word it that way. The way I see it I have three years and two floors until that day comes and so until then I’ll be bunking with my brother.
P.S. With my luck now that I’ve said this, I wouldn’t be surprised if I wind up in my parents basement in a few years.