I'm buying a house today, and soon I'll be leaving my parents house for the second time.

I remember the first time I left. I moved to Virginia Beach, intent upon working at the A.R.E. It look me almost a full month to convince them to pay me as an intern. A month of sleeping on floors and spare beds. A month of plans and plots. A few weeks back to pack and plan and then off again with a full trunk and nowhere to live.

I remember sitting on the floor of my room the night before I left, crying, packing, thinking I might never live in this place again and feeling like my heart would break. I listened to Deante's "Where Are You" from Whisper of a Secret" - The saddest song I know.

I moved six times in four weeks in Virginia and most every time I'd cry and pack and panic, wondering when I'd have a home again.

I ended up in a small cottage with a month to month deal I got by emotionally blackmailing and manipulating both the owner and the previous renters. I was more than I could afford, but the best I could do if I wanted to live alone in a resort town.

I loved living alone. I was lonely at times, but the freedom and space was worth it. After I moved in I found out my friend Dave lived across the street. More than five years ago I helped set him up with Beth. Still together and still happy after these few years.

I don't remember much about leaving Virginia. I was sad, but ready to go. I couldn't find work and I had an offer of a place to stay in New York, with my best friend from High School. I remember having a blast at my going away party and I remember Rachel being wonderful, helping me pack and sending me on my way. I remember it took three trips to finally get all my stuff and drive it to New York.

I was not sad to leave Tammie for Queens. She was insane and lived in Washington Heights - the scariest place I have ever been, let alone lived,

I remember leaving New York. It seems like it took weeks, the good bye dinners and hugs and small dramas and stress of packing. Mom, Dad and Margot came out to help me pack and drive the U-haul back to Ohio. Those last few days were a blur of stress and anger and relief when things went right and vision darkening anger when everything went wrong. By the time we pulled out I was too tired to be sad.

I remember being sad to leave people, but not sad to leave New York, until I started driving away for the second time.

I ended up having to make two more trips back to New York to finish clearing out the Apartment. Two and a half trips back and forth in a week. I was a wreck. It was that first trip, alone in my nearly empty apartment that the sense of loss struck me. I was leaving my independent life behind for however long and moving back to my parents' house. Ric took me to dinner that night and I held him and cried and drove away. I cried till Pennsylvania and I sobbed when that skyline disappeared from my mirror. Then the next day I drove back and did it again.

It's March, cool but not cold. I walked through my neighborhood one last time, knowing that even if I returned to New York I'd probably never walk though Woodside, Queens again. Tears till Jersey.

At Three o'clock I go to sign papers on my first home. I'm excited and scared and more than a little wary after all it's taken to get this far (three months, three mortgage brokers, fifteen pounds and infinite contract extensions), and just a bit sad. I know this won’t be like the other moves. It's only twenty minutes away, and because of fairs and such it'll be at least a month before I move.

No, not like the other times. This time will be better.