So, six months ago today I packed up everything I own that I thought I might need, had everyone I know help me load it into a truck, and started moving to Louisiana for a boy I’d been dating for five months.
But he feels like home to me. Louisiana, not so much. I love the people, but it’s very much him that I’m here for.
Needless tangent aside, everyone has told me that it takes six months to truly settle into a new place and a new situation. In a few days, it’ll be six months to the day of when I got here. I do feel like I’m getting settled. I don’t cry like I used to. I have a job; I have school; I have friends.
My only obstacle right now is this damn town that I live in, that doesn’t actually qualify as a town. Or a township, or a village, for that matter. It’s a “census-designated place” with probably 500 people. LAboy’s graduating class was 13, if that tells you anything. I live down the street from my MIL, which is another story altogether, and about an hour (if you drive the speed limit) from town. That’s a lotta gas, folks.
So I can’t really have friends over for a BBQ or anything. Not that I’m the BBQing sort. I’d more likely blow up the house trying. So maybe that’s a good thing?