The leaves have stopped changing and started falling. I’ve switched out my boisterous old records for quieter ones. My wool coat is back in regular rotation, and winter’s settling in.

In six and a half weeks, I’ll be leaving.

And in spite of my desperate attempts to remind myself of my myriad pet peeves with this place and with this school, and in spite of the fully-realized world that’s waiting back by the Pacific Ocean, and in spite of everything else, I’m feeling the sharp sting of moving in every room. I’m keeping a tally of all the people I wanted to know better while I was here. It was the same with high school–the people I knew the least were the ones I missed the most. I’m making believe I’m already gone. (I’m acutely aware I’m not.) I’m keeping a list of everything I’ll miss and everything I won’t.

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