The Obligatory College Post

I’m beginning to go through the deep psychological trauma of leaving home. Though subtle, thoughts of what I’m going to do with my life (read: without my parents around me every day) creep into my head. This happens especially at night. I’m pretty sure that it is this doubt of the future, in association with my obscenely whacked-out sleep schedule that keeps me awake here at 3:00 A.M.

But today, I did one of the hardest things I’ve ever done: I vacuumed my room. Now, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that the fact that I never before vacuumed my room is disgusting. And it is. But let’s focus here, people.

This Sunday, I move away from home. And while it may only be two hours up the Interstate and I’ll be stopping in fairly often for visits, it’s still sad that I’ve packed up everything in my room except for my bed. As I vacuumed today, I looked at my room. It represented the last 18 years of my life. And what has it become? A cube with holes in the walls where pictures hung and a single, lonely bed in the corner.

Is that it? Is that all my childhood has become? A dusty old room with holes where the memories used to be?

Sure, they tell you that college will be the best years of my life. And I believe them. But I think that it’s the transition that gets us; we are trapped in the awkward purgatory between the long-passed memories of childhood and the not-yet-realized experiences of what is to come.

Perhaps, though, once I find whatever lies ahead on the road of life, I can finally sleep.

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