I’ve been packing at a rate of about one box a day since it became a pretty sure thing that I’d be moving in the middle of the month. (Incidentally, I signed my lease today, so it’s now a surer thing than ever.) It’s truly amazing how much shit you accumulate when you live anywhere for any length of time. Even so, although I’d packed a handful of boxes this week, it barely seemed like I’d done anything to my room at all.
Tonight, though, I packed most of the knick-knacky things and took everything down from the walls except for a handmade crepe flower wreath that is very special to me and too fragile to pack. And now, even though the floor and most available surfaces are covered in crap, the place looks positively bare. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to sleep tonight.
It’s weird, to be so increasingly excited and so increasingly sad all at once.