It only takes a couple of days before I get tired of stepping over boxes all the time, so I tie my bangs back and get to work. There are clothes folded and shoved into baskets with the knowledge that I’ll be donating a lot of them soon. My bed, bountiful with pillows and a double duvet that I kick off in my sleep every night, the summer heat starting to seep in through the windows. But I think I’m most relieved to see clean hardwood floors again, easier on my feet than the rough carpet of my old dorm room.
Things are adjusting. I am painfully unproductive. My alarm goes off for what would normally be my morning run, but I just pull the double duvet off the floor and over my head, still half lost in some nameless nightmare that I’ll forget as soon as I’m fully awake. The feeling gnaws at my stomach even long after my eyes open, locking me to the sheets. This happened last summer, too, but I remembered them all, wrote them down, tamed them. I am not sure what has changed.
I clean my room. I flip through textbooks. I start thinking about what I’ll pack for my internship—10 weeks away from home. Will I sleep better there? I watch my childhood television shows. I eat more for one meal than I did in two days at school, sometimes. I dance again, the tall mirror in my bedroom finally showing me where my feet have been wrong for months.
Things are floating, in limbo, for now.
The wait will be over soon. ♦