Before anything begins, something must end. This inevitably happens when packing.
Today I began packing my apartment. My belongings effectively disappear into boxes and bags. Like clever literary devices, my stuff representationally foreshadows: I will soon disappear from this place as well.
What an awful thought? With each item I place in the box, the more and more I fade away.
Why would I do this to myself?
But I must go. I have both resigned and embraced the fact I'm leaving.
I must clear my slate here before I can enjoy a blank slate in Austin.
