Departure

It feels so strange to walk past the rooms in our apartment and see vacant beds and open closet doors bearing their emptied sterile insides. Much of their entrails were donated and much more was packed into anything capable of containing them and stuffed in some home-bound car.

How did it end so quickly?

If you would have asked me a month ago I would have told you that March is interminable. You would have tried to persuade me otherwise, and probably would have made a considerable case based on past experience, but I would have looked the other way and pointed to the vacuum that March seemed to be. It sucked me dry. Well, as luck would have it, I was incorrect and not only is March completely terminable, but April passed in flashes of color and snow and now I'm finding myself at the door. Waiting.

Half of my things have moved home and figuring out how to Tetris the contents of my dorm room to my new room is going to be a trick. Boy commandeered my room earlier this year and now I have to learn to stop at the first room at the top of the stairs rather than walking to the end of the hall before turning right. It's harder that it seems to break a 9 year habit.

Last night Roommate crawled into bed with me. I was half-asleep and dreaming when I saw her and reminisced for a few minutes about the year before I drifted off. Much of the year seems like dreams now.

For weeks now I have been making a list of reasons I won't miss my home-away-from-home. Most of this was so I wouldn't be as sad to go. I won't miss the shower with a depressing excuse for water pressure, the fungal floor, or the water temperature that fluctuates on a whim and often leaves you burning. I won't miss my window with a view of the parking lot and that is so hard to open the last time I tried, I nearly fell off my bed. I won't miss the constant mound of dishes or crumbs around the toaster. I won't miss the couch. Period. I won't miss the sound of living in the same building of 75 girls. I won't miss anything about the bathroom or the kitchen floor, both of which tested my tolerance threshold and taught me to just let things be. But over the last week I have been making a list of things I'll miss, albeit a mental list, but a constant flow of imaginary ink has been writing in my mind recording things that I will miss terribly.

I'm used to missing things and dealing with change. I think I'm destined to marry a nomad or live and hunter/gatherer lifestyle just so I can't ever get settled.

i.

miss.

you.

true.