Today I started taking my room down for Saturday's move. The walls are becoming bare and white. The anxiety over the new living situation is being supplanted with a depression.
As it always is. I didn't want to leave home to go to college that summer of '99, until all my trinkets were put away in boxes, so that my room was just bare walls. Then I couldn't wait to get out of there. There was nothing left for me.
Moving is hardest when we have an attachment to a place. Packing up helps to severe the ties; to show us under the comforting decorations we've added it's just four walls and a carpet, cold and uninviting, like a hospital room.
The place we move into is the same, but we think that we will be there a while, so we put a poster on the wall, and suddenly, it's not so bad anymore...
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