I have two boxes of purses. Totes of clothes. And a million boxes of teacups. Can my stuffed animals breathe when taped inside a box? I'm assuming not.
Karl patiently tries to tell me that I am getting all my stuff back. I am not packing these things to give them away; they will be going with us. But I can't help but have this small, nagging feeling that I am packing away this life. Twenty three years of me. It is one part thrilling. Another part terrifying.
Hard to believe that this little adventure will begin soon.
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