Hard-shelled Sea Creature

I can’t believe we’re blogging, girls – oh, how we’ve moved up in the world. I’m glad we’ve decided to do this. I imagine law school will have me drowning in legalese and memorization, and this will be a great way to keep a grip on the external world. If only by thinking of things to write about. I recommend that over the summer we read epistolary (GRE word) novels. Daddy-Long-Legs, Ella Minnow Pea… I know there are other more famous ones but these are the ones coming to my mind. Anyway, that way we can see what it was like when people communicated over distance only via the written word.

I have one month left in New York, and I spent 13 hours cleaning and packing yesterday. (Half of that was helping Sharon move, but is still thematic.) Right now it’s raining, and last night I watched a depressing French film. Never let it be said I let these occasions happen without style.

I cannot believe how much crap I’ve accumulated. Well, I can believe it. I’ve always felt like one of those hard-shelled sea creatures that carries their home on their back. My crap was my home, but now I am eliminating as much as possible and heading out west. Also I am leaving you. But let’s not think about that part, and instead focus on the crap.

So far, I’ve gotten rid of 10 pounds of clothes, 6 pairs of shoes, and one recycling bag full of paper. I haven’t even started on my books or tchotchkes or old schoolwork. I find myself facing questions of what is worth saving, kind of like Sophie’s Choice. Except it’s Berkeley and boxes of paper instead of the Holocaust and my child. Should I keep the old iMac from college? I keep on thinking I’ll recover some lost files, but that bitch is 10 pounds, at least. And can one of you tell me why I find it necessary to save every assignment I’ve ever had? Surely 10 years from now I won’t care about the grade I got on an Italian 201 quiz.

I am leaving June 7. This coming weekend is my last free weekend in New York. I’ve been pondering this fact all week, and: fuck. FUCK! I am on the verge of flipping out and will likely remain so until I’ve been in Berkeley for a year. However, I am so aware of how close I am to flipping out that actually flipping out will seem hopelessly meta. Also, every time I feel like crying I realize that I have no one to blame but myself. Surprisingly, that works quite well at keeping the tears at bay.