The more I think about it, the more I come to realise that the act of packing things is an act that goes against human nature. There is something to having to shove your entire life into a few boxes (or in my case piece of luggage) that makes you feel a bit empty inside. Something that makes you think Is this all my 19 years on Earth has really amounted to? while realising that you're woefully short of underwear and had never noticed so before.
Yesterday when I met with the Alchemist and Daryl, the Alchemist talked about how he had to clean up his parents home and how they were pack rats and had squirreled away lots of odds and ends. I think I am like that. I have tons and tons of odd things around, especially IB stuff. I obviously am not going to bring them with me to the UK, on one hand can't bear to throw it away, and finally on the other hand don't want to come back to a room where they have been thrown away. But I know this will happen, not that their being around has any sort of use whatsoever to me. I prefer to just let them lie, it gives me the feeling of my room being my room.
I can't even begin to imagine what my life in the next month will be like, the imaginary 9th October 2009. Looks like only time will tell.
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