Our house, in the middle of our street

My mum keeps talking about moving to a smaller house sometime next year, and I cannot even stand the thought of that. I've lived in this house since i was 3, thats 13 years (well, i lived overseas for a few years but came home regularly), and the amount of memories that are here, I just don't wanna move.

I spend most of my time at home. Yes, I am aware of how amazingly awesome that makes me sound. But I don't need to go out. It's just me and mum here, and she's such a relaxed mother. My friends usually come to mine, I'm allowed to smoke and drink inside the house, it's basically got everything I need and so I don't see the sense in going out really. But because I am home so often, it just creates more memories that I don't wanna leave.

One of my earliest memories is right before we moved into the house, me and my dad went to McDonalds, got our food, then came here and sat on the now lounge room floor and ate it. No furniture, nothing. Just an empty house with nothing but a father and his daughter pigging out. Back then we still had the tacky pink capet, grey blinds and grey walls.

Since then, we've added a room, moved what's in each room, tiled all downstairs, gotten new carpet, gotten new blinds, built an outside sitting area, done up the garden, gotten new fences, gotten a new letterbox, repainted the whole house and well everything else really.

And since then, basically everything you can think of has gone down here. First time I did, well most things that are part of growing up happened here.

The kitchen is what I'll probably miss most, my bedroom coming a close second. But everything goes down in the kitchen. Sweet late night chills, d&m's, drunk dancing, drunk times in general, pasta fights, foil hats, fights, kissing, getting asked out, sitting on the floor crying, drinking tea by myself, midnight feasts, eating in general, homework at ridiculous hours of the morning, everythings in this kitchen. Which ironically I'm sitting in now, by myself, drinking tea, smoking, doing homework and just chilling by myself. I actually love this kitchen.

My bedroom comes a close second. I need to repaint my walls soon according to mum, but I really don't want to. When I was younger, it was all light pink, and had a matching bed spread and wall paper. I still have the same draws from when I was younger, which is a little sad on my parents behalf, but still. Next it was differnt shades of pink. Then there was posters and photos covering the pink because I was so brutal and emo and was all 'no! pinks a happy colour!', I don't think my coolness needs to be mentioned here. A bad break up caused me to repaint it, purple and black, with an inverted cross and '40,000 people die every day, how come you're not one of them' written on one of the walls. Another has black paint just splattered across it. Drunk times have lead to countless amounts of messages written on my wall in permanent marker. Then fights have lead me to crossing out peoples names and writing different things next to them. Just reading them every now and then makes me laugh, because I forget about certain things from time to time. I really do love what I've done to it.

I don't expect many of you to understand what on earth I'm crapping on about, but those of you that have been to my house will understand its greatness, and its memories, and just everything about how homey it is.
I don't want to leave it.