maybe all one can do is hope to end up with the right regrets. -arthur miller



All the comfy stuff is gone from my bed. The memory-foam pad, the quilted matteress cover, cozy duvet, most of the pillows. All packed away in self-storage. All I've got now is a fitted sheet, a pillow, and my extra blanket. Stuff I can stick in at the last minute.

I'm lying here doing my regular nighttime thing (laptop sitting on my belly, one last e-mail and news check, a little conversation with HSG...), and it seems like everything is echoing against the cinderblock walls that were covered all year.

Posters? Safely in their cardboard tube. Clothes? Suitcased. TV? DVD player? Rugs? Lamps? All packed away tight. All the drawers are empty. Closet too.

It's a strange feeling, knowing that the place I've called home for the last 10 months is about to be someone else's home. Where my pirate flag used to hang, someone might put (shudder) that stupid Animal House poster every college guy seems to have. The bathroom that the Dish and I shared might not have a stereo--and the people who shower there might not sing.

I'm looking forward to this summer and then coming back for my junior year, but right now, what would feel just perfect would be to be curled up in my bed with all my pillows and over-sized comforter, not knowing that everything is about to change.


  • At 5/26/2005 7:26 AM, Blogger Col said…

    I'm twenty-five, and have moved house seven or eight times. It's a damn stressful thing to go through! Beleive me, it gets worse, but it gets easily the more you do it. I think I might be able to live anywhere now with very few mod cons... maybe.


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