I'm still waiting for the realization that I'm never going back to college. I'm waiting for myself to cry. I like crying. Crying is useful. It makes feelings real, instead of abstract, non-verbal ideas that you can't really hold on to; and, because of their intangible nature, they can never really be destroyed by logic. After crying, things become personal, and I become indebted to myself to end my misery.
I keep thinking it will happen as I unpack. "I haven't used this since..." and then I'll remember how it used to be in my giant room at school. The size of my room at home is inconsequential in comparison, the latter being sized appropriately for me when I was a third grader. But now I am seven inches taller and I have a lot more things. Regardless, crying. Yes. It should have happened by now.
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