Toodle-oo!

It’s the big day, the day I detach myself (physically, for mentally I was gone in about December) from this place of temporary residence. There’s something about being in one place for so long that makes me feel like everything I am is shrinking. Thoughts become two-dimensional, you begin settling for things you once trivialized, potential is merely a nine-letter word; I’ve reached this place. Not surprisingly, I feel depleted.

My shelves smell like oranges and the air, like clean linen. I’ve Febrezed the bajayzus out of this place (excuse my language, but this seems to be the only term to do my cleaning work justice). My mind is elsewhere, I’d rather be elsewhere. There is a list of goodbyes in my head, I’ve been rehearsing them the entire night, right down to the hug. It’s becoming a nearly remote practice, and I hate that I’ve lost that feeling.

And I’m not sure how I’m going to fit everything in the car, but Satan himself could not keep me from this escape. I’ve got too many clothes, excessive amounts of shoes, and an abundance of knick-knacks and useless trinkets that I somehow have accumulated. It’s hard for me not to find sentimental value in things, or to attach feelings to them.

So, this is the last night in history that I will sit at this desk, in this chair, in this room — this Godforsaken room that has, undisputedly, taken a piece of my mind.

I hate to end this rant on a bitter note. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had my fair share of invaluable moments this past semesters. I stayed up late, I snuck out (because I can), I broke rules, consumed Oreos, grew, and watched others grow. But the fine line between feeling like I am in a community and a prison has disintegrated, and I am more than alright with getting off this train.

And at the moment, I couldn’t be more thankful.