I look around the room, and see an ever-increasing state of disarray. Indeed, it seems that the move is less far off every day. Like most major life changes, the significance of not permanently residing in this city still eludes me, and probably will continue to do so until well after I move out.
I don't have a desk. I'm typing this on a laptop sitting on top of my other computer, in the corner of a room that bears fewer and fewer fingerprints of my living here. My bookshelf is gone, the books in boxes on the floor. I'm going to mail my computer home in short order. The amp goes to California with a friend for safe-keeping while I'm in France. That's it. The rest fits in my luggage, and goes on the plane.
It's not depressing, really, just kind of increasingly austere. It's as if, instead of making a clean cut with this city, I'm a tooth dangling around in the side of its mouth, kind of hurting and waiting for the courage and the right time to be pulled out completely. I've got to say, though, that the biggest bummer is having to pack up my stereo. What's a music grad with no amplification? At least I've still got my headphones.