if i told you to pack up you shit and move tonight, how many boxes would it take?

i told him four probably, plus that big ass duffle bag in my closet and my computer bag. its not an easy thing, packing up the last twelve months of your life and whisking it away to a far off land like it never happened.

or like its even over.

my far away land is my parents house, a whole fortyfive minutes of bumpertobumperrushhour traffic away from chapel hill. it seems useless at best, these few weeks between leaving and leaving again.

its probably best to use these weeks for quiet reflection. to look back on things that ive done and things i cannot change.

thats a load of bullshit if ive ever heard one, he said. the real life forrest gump can come up with better lines than that, jackass. what is this, not another teen movie eighteen and a half?

hurr hurr very funny. its the truth dumbass.

i dont like talking about myself. its not that i dont have an ego bigger than this room, but it seems to me that self importance is the worst of virtues. the bastard stepchild of arrogance and ignorance, or something like that. if i had a lot of fun this year, thats for me to know, not for me to gloat about on some sleazy bathroom wall called the blogosphere.

yeah, i stayed up many, many nights and made some memories

yeah i rolled out

yeah there were tears i knew id cry.

no matter though. it all just goes in the bank. the bank of good judgement. filled with files and files of experiences and endless boxes full of lessons learned. anyone with any sense about them wants to have the biggest good judgement bank on this side of the mississippi. alas, they would strive for it. they would make it a life goal. they would consider the great accumulation of all that life will teach you the greatest accomplishment of all.

but you dont want to hear about any of that. right?

he looked at me and gave me his little smirk.

of course not, you dumbass.

then he got up and started for the door.

oh, and one other thing. pay for lunch.