the packing storm has begun. my apartment no longer looks like my home – i am greeted by empty bookshelves and bare walls when i come in the front door. i hate this part. nesting in my new home will be good, i look forward to that, but in the mean time there is this awkward month of transition. the bare bookshelves are my chicago roots being plucked out of the dirt, and it stings a little.

i am bad at goodbyes and flinch when well-meaning and much-beloved friends poke at the wound with kind gestures. i am unused to anyone makng a fuss over me, and going away parties and gifts and one-last-beers and goodbye dinners that no one will let me pay for make me feel loved and humbled. i cannot match the kindnesses shown me lately; i suppose all i can do, karmicly, is to pass it forward.

still: i made this choice. onward, upward.