You can never just leave a place. There’s always some kind of preparation, some transitional act before the coming and going. Even if there’s no packing or physical preparation, there’s mental work to be done– thoughts of what it means to leave or arrive.

I do not like packing. More often than not it makes me emotional in some way.
Packing is a sentimental activity for me. I spent much more time looking at the things I intend to pack than doing any actual packing. Currently I should be packing my bag to go back to school as well as packing up my room so that my mother can turn it in to an office. I’ve been meaning to start for days. There are things everywhere. Perhaps you can see why I’m finding this all a bit overwhelming.

There are three options for my possessions: pack and leave here, pack and take with me, throw out. I’m trying to me more liberal with my getting rid of, as I hold on to much more than I need. A lot of my time goes into looking through things I discover that I had forgotten I had, or haven’t looked at in a while. Probably a half an hour was devoted to looking at a notebook that Belen and I kept in high school, then taking pictures of the pages and sending them to her. Here are some of the photos:

(Her humor really is complementary to my own. We find each other generally hilarious. Her humor also says nice things about my humor- as this note suggests).

(That is really a question someone asked in our Government class).

(They switched pants).

Those last two photos feature Josh Burns, who we were a little obsessed with (looking at) in High School. I hope he never googles his name and see’s this. (And yet I have no intention of deleting his name).

Anyway- packing is… hard for me. I’m also finding it a lot harder to pack up my room than I thought it would be. It’s not that I mind giving up the room, so much as now I don’t have a room. I mean, I’ve got my place at school, and there will be a futon/day bed for me in my mom’s new office so I have somewhere to sleep when I come home, but I don’t have a permanent place to keep my stuff. Or at least a place where I can set out my things and hang stuff up and get comfortable without knowing that anything brought out will have to be packed up in a few short months.

I was excited about going back to Reno and starting Spring semester (and I still am excited), but before when I thought about going back I didn’t think about the fact that it means leaving home. Obviously I can’t be in two places at once, so the two things are connected, but I find the act of leaving so much harder than the act of arriving or being.

Now I’ve also changed my layout instead of packing. And I think I’ll go indulge in some unhealthy behavior, and eat some ice cream too. But then I’ll pack- for real- because that’s what adults do… And because I kind of have to.

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