Blood, Sweat, and Tears

I hate packing day. That’s the day where you’re packing up all your stuff to move somewhere else. I particularly hate packing day when I’m moving somewhere from Menard.

I hate packing day for several reasons. First of all, it’s a lot of work. I was on my feet from nine o’clock this morning until now (past midnight) running up and down stairs, packing (particularly books), loading cars, picking up a piano, buying mattresses (and somehow cutting myself while loading them), washing cars, cleaning churches, cooking lunch, watering flowers, feeding animals, doing laundry, and plenty of other stuff. It left me totally worn out.

More importantly though, it’s so sad. My home in Menard is certainly my safe place. There’s nothing that can happen to me here. Everything is so intense in grad school. Pretty much every day, I get challenged by a new idea that I have to account for. There’s not a way to get oriented without being dishonest. I’m not saying that this isn’t a decent way to be, at least for a while. I would go through grad school again, and I’ll go through a lot more of it before I’m done, no matter which path I choose. The growth that I think I’ve made couldn’t not have happened without this challenge, and I wouldn’t trade it. But sometimes I need some distance from the life you’re living. And Menard is the furthest thing from grad school you can get. Here, the people who’ve loved me my whole life are together, as are the stories that have shaped me the longest. Menard is safe, and coming back here helps me to remember who I am. That’s a nice feeling that’s difficult to let go, even when I know that taking the next step in my life requires doing so.

And I HATE leaving my parents. I’m not exaggerating at all when I say that I have the best parents you possibly could have. There’s no way parents could possibly have loved Kalyn and me more than they have. They devoted their lives to us, and they hate to see us go. Mom starts crying days in advance of our departure and doesn’t stop until a few days after we are gone. As for Dad, I’ve only seen him cry about four times in my life, and three of those were when he was leaving either Kalyn or me. Even though it’s necessary and even though I know my parents do okay here by themselves, I still hate doing that to them. And, of course, even though I talk to them almost every day, I miss them both when I’m gone.

Anyway, I’ve made it through packing day, and I’m going to bed now. I’ve a long day tomorrow (unpacking day) moving my sister into her new apartment in Abilene before I head off to Lubbock. Unpacking day isn’t quite so bad, but still, this is about the one time of the year that I’m looking forward to Monday.