Deep Pocketful of Sunshine
May. 28th, 2008 11:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aseI am 90% packed. This is as good as it gets. I need to find one more library book to return to the public library or risk making a tradition of leaving library systems with exactly one book overdue. I also popped my last university library book - The Letters of J. R. R. Tolkein, which would probably have been quite interesting if I'd ever made it past the first paragraph of the first letter - into the book drop at 10:40 tonight.
Something I think I haven't made particularly clear is the moments when I'm running around throwing trash bags into the can or driving onto campus or whatever, and I'll be struck by this moment when I think, "shouldn't I be asking, 'how can I leave this? I like this part!' moments?" and then I have a gigantic moment of "nah". Take driving onto campus: passing the green around the engineering and math buildings, going through the M, stopping at the stop sign where![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wizardoffoo got hit, parking at Lot HH in front of my old work building long enough to run to the library and look down the mall - am I going to miss that? It's beautiful, but it's over. The entire area is like that. So what if I know all the stores, bus routes, walking shortcuts? Google maps will find a bunch of those for me in the new place. Time to live in much uglier and less historic districts, with fewer fountains or old trees and more catchment basins trying to moonlight as bucolic suburban ponds. I have no regrets, other than that library book. Surely this is joy.
So this is what I take away: a woman in long sleeves and the statue of the school mascot, nose rubbed shiny for luck, looking down the empty night-dark green. It's about time I burned rubber out of this town.
Something I think I haven't made particularly clear is the moments when I'm running around throwing trash bags into the can or driving onto campus or whatever, and I'll be struck by this moment when I think, "shouldn't I be asking, 'how can I leave this? I like this part!' moments?" and then I have a gigantic moment of "nah". Take driving onto campus: passing the green around the engineering and math buildings, going through the M, stopping at the stop sign where
wizardoffoo got hit, parking at Lot HH in front of my old work building long enough to run to the library and look down the mall - am I going to miss that? It's beautiful, but it's over. The entire area is like that. So what if I know all the stores, bus routes, walking shortcuts? Google maps will find a bunch of those for me in the new place. Time to live in much uglier and less historic districts, with fewer fountains or old trees and more catchment basins trying to moonlight as bucolic suburban ponds. I have no regrets, other than that library book. Surely this is joy. So this is what I take away: a woman in long sleeves and the statue of the school mascot, nose rubbed shiny for luck, looking down the empty night-dark green. It's about time I burned rubber out of this town.
