The Tall Blonde moved out.
I mean…it’s not like she’s been living here for the last four years. She was at university…which included a year abroad…she came home on the odd long weekend and holidays…her room neatly waiting her arrival.
But the other day…she moved out. As in..with no intention of ever moving home.
I honestly don’t know how I feel about that.
In September, The Tall Blonde is off to France again. She accepted a year-long contract teaching English at a boarding school…and until then, while she works at a pub this summer in her Nova Scotia tartan skirt serving up our infamous Keith’s brew to tourists…she’s living with a group of girlfriends in a flat downtown.
As in…”not living in my house even though we’re in the same city” moved out.
I’ve been busy the last few days since we arrived home from Cuba. Back into the insane schedules of Bones and Spider-Man…catching up on emails…doing a few small jobs and sending out proposals…and in the middle of all of that, without even blinking and realizing it was happening…though the date was on my radar for months…The Tall Blonde packed her things and left.
I guess I’m used to her coming and going so it really didn’t feel all that weird at first…except that last night, I actually told someone that The Tall Blonde was “staying with friends” for the summer while she worked downtown.
Then, as I lay in bed last night…unable to sleep…I thought…”staying with friends?”
No…she’s not “staying with them”…she’s not having a little visit for a weekend…she actually signed a lease and pays rent and has no intention of jumping into her childhood bed on the long weekends…the room that’s been relatively empty for the last four years but not so empty that someone didn’t stay in it a few weeks through Christmas, the long weekends and summer vacation.
She moved out.
She moved out.
And I’m one less baby bird in this momma bird’s nest.