move-in(g)

The thing about moving is that it's much an emotional pain-in-the-ass as it is a physical one.

Packing up books and shoes and dishes and transporting them takes time, takes a certain physical strength (or at least, it takes some friends with a certain physical strength).

But, beyond that, moving is an exercise in assessing your life. There's no going around it. Every single thing you own and, by extension, a ton of memories, thoughts, forgotten feelings must resurface.

I'm moving in two weeks. In less than two weeks. And the thought of assessing my life and my past 10 months in Brooklyn is terrifying the heck out of me. A part of me would like very much to throw everything away, to start from scratch, to start my life all over. But another part of me--likely a louder, stronger part--knows just how impossible that is.

I'll leave things behind. But they'll probably turn up somewhere.

In the meantime, I'll grind my teeth in my sleep. (And break out into angsty acne.)