Dear Confessions from a Girl who is Moving in a Month

20 Apr

I’ve stopped doing laundry. I haven’t vacuumed in a month. 

Should I even bother to replace the olive oil? What size should I get? How many ounces of olive oil do you use in a month?

I have the strangest impulse to keep buying books. This is my last month of graduate school! I should leave here with a complete library of every book I’ve ever loved and ever meant to buy, every book on my reading list. I should read all of the books I own that I have not read before I am allowed to leave. 

The stacks of paper in my apartment are taking over. I live in a studio. When there are stacks of paper and books on every flat surface, there is nowhere to sit, no other room to go to. I’m surrounded, essentially, by failed drafts. 

On the other hand (there is always at least one other hand, if not more)…

I am running. I have to be in a very specific state in order to want to go running. It’s a sort of restless, humming energy. Maybe anxiety, but it has to be anxiety without conflict. When I’m anxious because of conflict, I want to sleep, watch tv, argue, and eat. I want resolution. I want to finish the damn conversation. So: anxiety without conflict: I’m wide awake. I shuffle papers, I tap my feet, I can’t sit down to finish reading a story.

People ask me if I’m really taking off the weekend after graduation. Yes. It’s time to go. I don’t know what the new thing is, but it’s time for it. Time, at least, to be thinking about it. 

I have papers to grade. I have to sit down and finish reading these stories.

Only grading could make running look attractive to me. I hate running. But yoga? Yoga now? No way. I’d probably start compulsively humming, just so some part of my body could be continuously moving. I’m in one of those strange lives-alone-as-a-single-person phases where I want really physical contact: handshakes, hugs, to lean up against somebody while we watch TV. If you know what I’m talking about, you know what I’m talking about. But then I do see a friend, and they offer a hug, and I shy away. Skittish. Jitterbuggy.

I think this means I should go out dancing. 

And then, you know, I stop. I remember that I only have a few weeks left here, and this is a nice place. This is a good shower. This is a good window. This is a sweet little apartment that I have been in since the second day I arrived. This is a plant that I have kept alive through all of that time. This desk is where I wrote everything– everything— for the past three years, where all of those hundreds of pieces of paper came from. I can throw all of it, I can pack it all up and ship it home, I can read through it all or just let it go.

But I really do need to do laundry.

And if you’re a person who lives where I do for this pocket of time, I really do need to see you before I go. I’ll wear clean clothes. I promise.




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