The Books Will Fit

My room exploded.

Less than two weeks from my departure and I realize I’ve been silent on the subject of Moving. Even though my wardrobe has regurgitated itself, it still hasn’t quite sunk in that I’m actually leaving. I said to Megan today (she called me! from the other side of the world!) that I’m in “suspended disbelief.” I have no end-date in mind: I bought a one-way ticket to Scotland, with half-formed plans to go to Spain afterward, and a tangle of options for after that. It is hard to work into my head that I am going to be in school again, now that August has come and gone and I have yet to step into a classroom. Term doesn’t start until September 29th.

As I told Andrew, I doubt I’ll really realize that I’m in Scotland until I’ve turned in my first paper. Half the time it seems I’m unaware of where I am, as my mind is mostly preoccupied with people who aren’t present or who don’t exist. Location is irrelevant; the mind is everywhere. The past few days I’ve been ultra-aware of my surroundings, as if trying to etch each image into my memory: scrubby trees competing with the cluttered horizon of streetlights and signs, by-products of urban sprawl, or the fields and pastures that have hitherto been untouched, but will indubitably be “developed” upon my return. As we drove up to Canyon Lake yesterday, I was awash with memories of what had once been a familiar drive up to Spring Branch. Back when the Kissingers still lived with their parents, when we still had Fun Days, when we all still orbited San Antonio; but now I am adrift, speeding into the unknown. I remember the nighttime drives back to San Antonio, and Drew and I would end up playing leapfrog. I always let him win, because I was more afraid. More responsible, you might say.

We went sailing. It was good. If we can, we might go again next week. The Sunfish: