Life in a suitcase

It's difficult to pack away your entire life in one suitcase. Okay, so I might be packing six weeks worth of life into three suitcases, but still, there's some picking and choosing going on. For instance, I could only put one Johnny Depp poster into my bag that could hold Texas, rather than my usual six million. Since I'm packing the day State College thought it was Death Valley, I'm inclined to throw all my shorts in with the two tons of textbooks, but our weather is so bipolar these days, I could wake up thinking it's going to snow, and realize all my comfy sweaters were left at home. Oh good lord, I'm going to have to start checking the weather each morning. I've officially turned into my parents.
I've unearthed a lot of memories through these packing endeavors--earrings I've collected, books I've read, and SAT practice tests that really helped with my thick hair situation (see, there's optimism in everything). As I'm scrounging under my bed for wall-worthy photos, I can giggle every time I pass my lobster slippers, which have been titled "the libster sloppers," ever since my stepmom misspoke when she referenced them. Damn, I wish it would hurry up and get cold again so I can show off those things. With my leopard and lobsters, I'll be the sexiest kid in Pollock halls. And since there's enough room for a week's reading material in those rooms, I've spent the past morning flipping through my yearbook so many times, I've managed to 1) celebrate the end of us high schoolers' awkward stage (finally! Remember when we thought it would never end?), and 2) cry over and memorize my friends' messages. It is possible to not be cheesy in a yearbook, if you are the sneakiest sentimentals in our nerd clot.
I'm only taking a quarter of my room with me, but it already looks so empty, I'm acting like I'm planning to move to China for four years, rather than downtown for a little over a month. It's funny which of our possessions can have no meaning to us until we're about to leave them. This paper weight I got in New Mexico that has been collecting dust on my desk (not once did it serve its purpose of weighting paper), is suddenly the epitome of my Santa Fe travels, which, in turn, is a momento of Harry Potter, seeing as my fellow Daniel Radcliffe fangirl lives in Santa Fe. Which then leads said paper weight to Twilight memories, because with my Harry Potter soulmate, we invented a (water) drinking game. Suddenly I can't live without this paper weight, or I will turn into a blank, memory-less blob.
My gosh. It's just a ball of glass. Get over yourself. 
Then there's the DVDs. You know your life is sad when you have a nice chunk of memories through Gilmore Girls DVDs, but quite a few mother/daughter bonding moments happened right with Rory and Lorelai. It enticed us to treck up to Starbucks, pollute our systems with caffeine, and on the walk back down, act surprised by my traditional rage of "WHY THE HELL CAN'T YOU BE MORE LIKE LORELAI GILMORE??"
Good memories, that will always be cherished.
It's bittersweet to say goodbye to a room that has always been there for me, but unless it becomes home of this elipitcal machine I've heard tell of, I know it will always be here for me to visit, whenever I rage the house for some nice free chocolate and coffee   family bonding.

Johnny Depp will just have to live with my stuffed tiger for a while.

The paper weight of which we speak of. Plus a hippie lamp and a bunch of nerdy books you'll pretend not to see. 











Namaste.