It was the Nightingale, and Not the Lark

... that pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear. I am ... not ready to leave.

I packed one box. One box. And then my eyes filled with tears and I had to go lie down.

The party yesterday made everything very real and very sad. I can't think about where I'm going or what I'll be doing -- just all the nice people I am going away from. My friends actually held me down -- strapped to a chair with three people on a side -- and said nice things about me to my face. And hit me when I tried to be self-deprecating. And now, when I try to pack I almost start crying.

So thank God for Missday, who came over and was all supportive while I was all clingy and needy. And thanks to her, I have packed two boxes to go into the basement, and one whole box of culls off my bookshelf. And I read one whole chapter of a professor-book, and felt a sense of accomplishment. The battle is once again on, and my responsibility has struck!

As a side note, my number of Shakespeare books has grown to nearly 30. Not counting, of course, all the individual plays I have (only missing 4). As a whole, that is comforting.