I've started to think about packing. And I have done some. But I really don't want to pack at all, because I don't really know where I'm going. There was a story I was told about an MK who graduated from college and had nowhere to go. I always hated that story. And now I kind of feel like that's where I am. It's hard to write with all this uncertainty, let me tell you. (And also, when I am done writing, I feel like I will really, truly, be gone, and I don't know how to handle that.)
There are some boxes I never unpack, wherever I move. These are the memory boxes and they keep getting heavier each time. I'm sure there is a metaphor in there somewhere.
On the other hand, part of me also likes packing and getting rid of things I don't need.
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