Hugs, Shopping Sprees and Packing Tape

I'm not sure why, but I simultaneously need to buy things, and be hugged today.

Welp. When did I become such a chick?

But seriously, I've got some leftover money burning holes in my pocket, and a desperate need of hoodies and other geeky gear. Along with the completely random, out-of-the-blue, longing for a hug. The type that you just kind of melt into, y'know? All warm and soft and snuggly and everything people imagine a hug to be, but isn't. They're always brief and sometimes stiff, necessary and not an actual desire- just a daily requirement of life. Wake up, hug your family members, walk out the door. Eat dinner, hug your wife, go to bed.

I don't want that. I want an actual hug- But then again, I want a lot of things that "should be", those dreamy ideals, and I'll never get them. So I'll be fine with the hugs I get, and I actually shouldn't complain, anyway.

Now, time to address the actual topic of this blog post:

My unnatural addiction to hoodies.

I haven't the faintest clue as to why I like hoodies so much, seeing as to how I live in the South, and therefore, hardly ever use them. I just really, really love them. There's these soft, almost florescent hoodies at Target right now, that my self-resolve is rapidly crumbling under, despite their obnoxious coloring. I also bought a stupidly cute panda hoodie up in TN a while back, and there's an abundance of fictional character's hoodies that I desperately want to attempt to recreate. So basically, I just need to move somewhere more to the North, and start compiling a giant pile of hoodies.

Speaking of moving, I'll probably be doing so in a year. Well, finger's crossed anyway. My sister has a year before college, after which, my mother and I are seriously debating on moving up to TN, to be with my grandmother and aunt. Our town's colors are starting to fade, and whenever we drive through the old neighborhood, to get stuff from the old house, it feels like visiting a parent's childhood home. All things considered, this is the longest I've lived anywhere in my life. Surprisingly though, I don't mind the idea of moving; On the contrary, I'm fairly certain I'm the strongest supporter of the idea. My mother has made her desire to "start fresh" after the divorce clear, and I agree with her.

Instead of the comforting familiarity that I assume people feel when they've been born and raised in the same place for their entire life, I feel like it's a place I've worn out. It's old, and colorless, and time to go. This year, I can say with utmost certainty, is not going to be important. It's going to blur, until my calendar is 3 months behind and I'm uncertain of the time of day. It's going to be like when you're working on a project in the afternoon, and then you look up 5 minutes later and suddenly it's 2 AM and you haven't gone to the bathroom in several hours. We'll get through the year, and then look back and wonder where it's all gone, more so then the usual years.

So. Here's hoping I get a hug, a hoodie and a house.
(as spoiled as that sounds)