All my worldly possessions. . .

…are on a moving truck en route to California. I’m typing this as I lay on my stomach on the floor of my empty apartment. Which is not, contrary to what I have seen on television, comfortable.

I stayed up all night to finish the packing and when the movers came this morning at 8:30, I was ready to roll. I glanced around the apartment and had a flickering thoughts of all the good times I had here in the Boot, which then turned into “am I doing the right thing?” which was subsequently followed by “I’m doing (and did) this all by myself” which was then all subdued by my venti Starbucks coffee, which fueled me til the late morning when I was almost falling asleep.

But yes, I am doing the right thing for me and it’s not like I’m never coming back to visit, but to my surprise, there was a pang of bittersweet. I didn’t expect that.

I also didn’t expect to tear up a little at this sight:

That is everything I own. Everything. Except a few outfits and my toothbrush. I just watched as my entire life was packed on a truck. Then I went inside and was surrounded by emptiness. Emptiness that needed to be cleaned, which is worse.

So I strapped on my headphones and iPod and got busy with the vacuum.

Then I took a break to write down my feelings of today for two reasons: one, so I wouldn’t forget them (obvi) but also because I was not expecting such bittersweet feelings. I really am shocked.

That’s not to say I’m not excited about going home. I really am. I don’t even mind living at the parentals for a while. I know I’m making the right call by heading west, but I had been so excited about going home that the finality of leaving kinda caught me off guard.

I’m not sure what to make of it, but for now, I will just throw it out there while it’s all fresh in my mind, and continue cleaning my apartment before I go wheels up at 3:25pm Central time tomorrow.

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