These goodbye-days are the worst.
Maybe that sounds overly dramatic, but really I dread these days. I dread these days going both directions — going to school and going home — because I hate change. Hate saying goodbye. And these days that fling me up and away from Seattle are the rock-bottom worst.
This is me: sitting at my airport gate, sipping an iced tall caramel macchiato through a straw with quivering lips, trying really hard not to think about anything. Cause everything somehow leads back home.
See, I’m too torn. I love school. I’m obsessed with it; it is a silly, busy, sunny second home. As soon as I get there I’ll be so glad — glad to see the beach and my best friend and my dorm-home and the cafeteria and my mailbox, which may or may not be full of package slips for textbooks that I will somehow be glad to see, too, knowing I’ll be stuffing my brain full of them in the coming months.
I do love home, too, and this is the part that makes my lips quiver as I drink more coffee. I love my mom and my dad and how our relationship has become friendship. I love my sister; no one makes me laugh like she does. And my crazy dog and my living room and cooking in the kitchen and playing games and walking in wintry gray Seattle weather and drinking coffee from coffee shops that are so indie and so cool and so nonexistent in California.
But I have to go: here again, there again, called north or south by this academic migration pattern called college-student-life.
Somehow I feel better now, coffee gone and lips calmer, after writing all this out. Writing calms me. And really — I’m ready for second semester. I just have to get through this day first.