Moving on.

I'm puttering around by room trying to get my things packed. I hate packing my room, I hate packing my car, I hate not knowing what box to look in for a shirt or deodorant. There's a large lump in my throat as I collect my toiletries from the bathroom shelves, putting each item in its respective bag; as I choose which clothes go in the suitcase and which go in the irretrievable rubbermaid container; as I pull the pictures of old friends off the walls, regretting that I have not one photo for new friends this summer. I can't imagine what it's going to be like when I wake up and don't send Mr. Wonderful his morning commute text message on my way back from the gym; I can't imagine what it's going to be like when I can't spend my day running around the youth detention center, talking to the residents, representing them in hearings, teaching street law, calling attorneys, courts, social workers.

When I moved down here, I was sad to leave friends but excited at what was next. As I move away, I'm only sad. Quite unintentionally, I built a life for myself here. I'm looking at spending another 13 weeks living out of suitcases and my car, making new connections, and then leaving again. Then I'll spend another 13 weeks at my familiar house and law school, but having not seen anyone in 9 months. Then I'll study for the bar somewhere for the summer. Then I don't even know where I'll be a year from now. Will I even have a job? Will I ever find anyone that I adore as much as I adore Mr. Wonderful?

I have to wonder what force in the universe has given me such a perfect summer, just to take it all away. If only my life could go on just as it is now. I do miss my dearest friends terribly, but I'm so tired of constantly moving on.