a movement

Turns out organization is a never-ending process. Somehow there is always something new to find a place for, make a system around, or just stuff in a box to get it out of the way. A part of me wants to take all the shells in my room and send them out to sea... set them free so that I don't have to find another place for them.

Moving home is hard in so many ways. My room has been empty space for so long that it's accumulated lots of old mementos as well as some newer ones. The time has come to move some stuff out of the way, but how do you get rid of beautiful or meaningful objects? I can't. Instead I put them into a trunk and try to figure out where to put the trunk. The trunk feels like a giant weight of what I used to be... in some ways an embarrassment in its proof that I've been so far from where I want to be. I'm in a mood of wanting to drop everything and cling to everything at the same time. I miss my old room so much it hurts, and all it was was a tiny box I could hardly fit my stuff into.

I've got my bookshelf set up, and that makes it feel more like home. Only one problem: the text books lurking on the bottom shelf, reminding me that I haven't started studying yet. I'm so wrapped up in procrastination I'm starting to wonder if I'll actually take the subject GRE. The plan seems so clear: Go to UCSC next fall if they'll have me. The practice is one of getting past all the emotional roadblocks I have. I hate grad school in principle: you have to be prepared to go almost a full year before you actually start classes. I have one month to cram if I decide to do it. I can do it, reasonably well, but I have to decide.

I have to get moving, get my errands run, get things in order. Soon, I'll be moving non-stop and there will be no time for nerves.