runaway train

The dismantling has begun. I've got six boxes of books and an empty, dusty bookshelf. My room is being taken apart, slowly at first and then it will turn hectic as family arrives and the deadline arrives.

As much as I'm excited to be living a block from the Bryant Lake Bowl, must it be at the expense of not living next to Josh? As much as I'm looking forward to seeing my family, their presence carries an unspoken ultimatum.

I've mentioned it before, but I'm cursed by finding good people everywhere I've lived. I find myself missing the place where I'm not, regardless of place or people. Right now I'm itching to get back to Minneapolis, but I know it means I'm leaving New Haven indefinitely. And I know once I go, things won't stay the same here. Jake's leaving, people are moving, the inherent impermanence of the school kicks in and they start all over again in the fall. And after next year, I'll barely know anyone here. The buildings will be the same, but the city will not.

Maybe I just need to stop listening to Ben Folds when I'm doing sad things like packing. It'd help if I didn't hear "And life barrels on like a runaway train/Where the passengers change/They don't change anything/You get off; someone else can get on."

I just gotta keep reminding myself that the train ends in Minneapolis.