It’s Beginning to Get to Me

I’ve known that I’m leaving. Ever since I applied (I think in April), people have been telling me not to worry (because that’s what I do), I’ll be accepted, no problem. Yet when I got my acceptance letter in mid-October, I was still speechless. Then began the endless paperwork, the onslaught of questions from friends and relatives, other little things like that. It didn’t really hit me that I was actually going—until Christmas morning. I had spent the afternoon on Christmas Eve “wander-packing,” in which I put a box or suitcase in a corner and start to wander around the house, gathering things I think I might need and depositing them around said box or suitcase (I did the same thing before I moved to Knox—the family room/basement was a mess).

As I wandered, I came up with these worries questions:

--“Will my wallet fit in my money belt?”

--“Should I get travel-sized shampoo or just take all the little samples we’ve collected from hotels over the years?”

--“Should I take two of this kind of notebook or just one of this kind? Because this one is college-ruled but I like the covers on these better. Or maybe I’ll just take this bulky sketch book instead. Because I’m definitely going to have time to draw.”

--“I should start packing for Spring Term now, right? Because I’ll only have three days after I get home to get ready to go back to Knox. Yeah, that makes sense.”

--“I haven’t ordered any Euros yet, aaaahhhhh!!!” To which my mom replied, “We’ll take care of it after Christmas.”

This made sense the next morning when I opened an envelope and pulled out several slips of multicolored paper. “Why did you get Monopoly money?” my brother Adam asks. And then it hits me. I have two weeks left to pack. I have two weeks left to say goodbye (reinforced by my family throughout the day: “If we don’t see you again before you leave…”). Two weeks is not a long time. Especially since the longest I’ve ever been away from home (other than Knox, which is my home away from home) is about a week. I’ve flown three times, been out of the Midwest five times, and know enough basic Spanish to struggle through a conversation.

I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed.