it might not mean much to anyone else, but it nearly made me cry. entering my bedroom to see blank walls where once there were prints, pictures, papercut art pieces, quotes, and other bits of ephema that had accumulated over the years. this would have felt more like my room if we'd taken all the furniture out and left the walls as they were.
and then setting the recycling out on the curb. walking back up the driveway, past the plants that line the edge of the lawn. soon, I won't have a lawn. this won't be my house. I won't live here anymore.
eighteen years, and suddenly it's over. I'm moving. "aren't you excited?"
maybe later. when we are painting, and positioning furniture, and arranging our kitchen how we like—maybe then.
but not yet.
I'm tired. the clock that hangs precariously on my temporary cubicle walls ticks the seconds away. it's march and I'm still wearing my fuzzy scarf. for warmth or for comfort? the open notebooks on my desk, while useful for list-making and thought-taking are also for comfort.
a hug would not solve the problem, but it would be nice.
today's song mood: