I was meant for the city.

Right now I am listening to Sonic Youth and packing. Sonic Youth because they fill my heart with an inexplicable happiness, even on my shoddy laptop speakers. Packing because I have to leave New York.

I have four bags--a suitcase and duffle bag to check, plus a carry-on suitcase I bought today for $15, and my laptop bag/purse. When I arrived in New York City, I had about 100 pounds of stuff between two suitcases and my laptop bag. I'm not sure how much I have now, but the new suitcase I got basically only holds the 27 albums I've bought here, plus a few normal-size books, and Geoff's book. So that excludes everything else I've bought while I've been here. Not to mention the ten pounds of PC Magazines I have to keep because they contain my bylines. I'm trying to stuff clothes into the perimeter. I'm trying to stuff anything I can into the perimeter really. Bloody hell.

I'm using my dad's backpacking packing mantra, which is: "Every ounce counts." My dad is one of those crazy backpackers whose backpack for a week-long, 50-mile trip weighs six pounds before food. Yes, six pounds before food. So basically I am throwing away anything possible. Papers, pens, almost-empty bath products, shoes, lacy underthings--even my favorite polo shirt (sure, it saw me through four years of college, but it's full of holes. Too bad I'm such a sentimental sop, and a pack rat. It's a horrible combination. I don't recommend either habit). Of course, I have perfected the clothes roll, which is a major space saver. And I brought stupid stuff when I came out here, like nuts from Costco, and soap. (I haven't used soap since the sixth grade. I use body wash. I think I took my dad's other motto, "Be Prepared," a little too seriously). So yeah. I'm hoping I can throw away enough that I can keep enough, if that makes sense.

As for my sanity, it is slowly leaving me. I grow increasingly sicker to my stomach, which means I'm not eating, which means I'm going to die in two weeks or less. As I've told everyone who's asked, I am zero percent excited to leave New York, which means I am 100 percent nervous to go back. I've already made it clear to most of my friends that if I don't call them this first weekend I'm back, it's nothing they can help--I'm just grieving.

Okay really I'm just pretending about all this drama queen stuff. Sort of. Ten percent pretending.