Every year at school, packing takes forever. Our ninth graders really don’t want to pack, so they put it off for days. Then the hall looks like a disaster area. Their rooms look like grenades have gone off in them. And the hall and rooms are filled with half-packed boxes. The kids themselves look shell-shocked, and who can blame them? The lives they’ve lived in safety and security for two, three, four years are about to blow up. They know it, and they’re running a little scared.
For the first time in a long while, I’m packing too. The books are all just about packed. I’m leaving a lot behind, or throwing them away. Tonight I started on art supplies and filing boxes. Those are just about done. And tonight I also made a decision on apartment… one which will require me to be relatively homeless for about a month between June 30 and August 1.
Part of me is excited about this and part of me is deeply dismayed. While I like the idea of a vagabond existence, I’m not sure I’m ready to live it.
So for the first time in a long while, I totally sympathize with the disorder on my dorm and the shell-shock in my students’ eyes. I share it.