“One Down, One to Go”

He was last out of the womb.

But he’s the first out of the house.

On Labour Day, my younger brother moved into his own apartment.

It wasn’t unexpected. He’s been “threatening” my mom (half-jokingly) for the last few years that he’d be moving into his own space.

And yes, there is that unsaid stigma in North American culture, towards the young adult male still living at home with his parents.

Plus, my brother’s gone from unemployed to hard-working in the past year and a half in his industry, which has rightfully warranted such benefits as winning awards, and a positive job review, complete with a raise.

So this day was coming.

But … *tsk* … I wanted to be fiiirst. I can’t believe he beat me to it.

I had expected to already be in a purchased space of my own when this all went down.

Yes, I know – I only have myself to blame. I’m fully aware. I realize I was the one who promised myself to stick it out for at least the next 12-18 months, while I strive to achieve my goal of The Downpayment (while simultaneously waiting to see what real estate prices do – and hoping they work in my favour).

But this recent development is going to make the next 6 – 12 months feel like the ultimate test of my patience.

It doesn’t help that my mom’s phrase of the week was, “One down, one to go.”

The first time she said it, I muttered, “I don’t know if I’m going anywhere, at the rate things are going.”

The second time she said it – on little bro’s moving day, in the presence of the previous tenant, who happened to drop off a vacuum to help us in our moving-in clean-up – I said nothing. I was just focusing on not letting my eyes roll up into my head in exasperation.

And as an example of what I just might be looking forward to when this year’s cold, harsh winter finally arrives:

Wednesday night, following a shitty end to a mediocre workday, I walked through the front door to hear the strains of what I could only surmise was a heated debate between my mom and dad; their voices were raised loud enough to cause me a bit of concern.

Not to go into the minutiae, but I was essentially sucked into an argument over the difference between a debit card and an “access card”. (Trick question, kids.)

I’m not putting down their knowledge about the use of modern banking tools today. If you don’t know, you don’t know. But it was the wall of loud voices that pummelled me for about six or seven minutes afterwards. Both parents were justified in their views. They were also convinced the other thought they were being stupid and were simultanously trying to convince the other that’s not what they were saying to each other, at all.

So draining. I’m beginning to think that the black hole everyone’s worried the Large Hadron Collider might cause is forming in the family room of the house where I live.

So if you see me walking down the street this fall and you can’t help but notice large bald patches on my head, be forewarned: it’s not alopecia. It’s the beginning of my trip on a train called Crazy.