All My Bags Are Packed

All my bags (and boxes) are packed,
I'm ready to go.
I've been standin' here outside my door.
I hate to see how much postage is going to cost,
Because the boxes are breakin', they're really heavy.
The schools are waitin',
They're sending me emails,
Already I'm so torn I could sleep.
So miss me and smile for me
Tell me that you won't replace me.
Hold my bed like I'll never be away.
'Cause I'm leaving on a jet plane,
I don't know when I'll be back again.
Oh, room, I hate to go,
There's so many times I've let you down,
So many times I've camped on the ground.
I'll tell you now, they don't mean a thing.
Every place I go, I'll think of you.
Every song I sing, I'll sing for you.
When I come back I'll vacuum the carpet.
Now the time has come to leave you.
One more time, oh, let me clean you.
Then close your door,
I'll be on my way.
Dream about the days to come,
When I won't even have a home.
About the times, I won't have a say . . .

Today I packed up everything that's going with me, split into boxes to be sent, carry-on luggage, checked luggage, and things that will be desserted after Costa Rica. How much I really need is debateable. I don't think I will miss little things, but I will miss my room in general. It has two michemily walls and two white walls, sage carpet good for digging toes into and doing homework on and vacuuming, pegs I nailed to the wall to hold first my dried roses and then my jackets, the little trinkets I've picked up or received or made and displayed, a window whose blinds hardly ever are opened because of my fear of spiders (despite the fish scene my dad painted in the window well); it is secluded and yet close enough to household activities, the lack of closet doors is welcoming to anyone looking for a good outfit, but most importantly, it holds the most wonderfully warm full-size bed on this side of the Mississippi. Several times I've expressed my wish to keep that bed for forever and I've ended up debating with people about if a full is big enough for a married couple. This bed is a veteran of the sleep world. It made it through years of cabin use, not being loved by any one person specifically. After that it was disliked for its gold color, so it was painted white and got a new cover to make it fit into a girl's lavender room. I never minded the squeak it made whenever it detected a slight movement (okay, maybe enough to move it away from the wall). It never minded when I would take a running jump and shiver with joy (and basement cold) at being able to go to sleep in the depth of blankets. It made it through the banshee days without so much as one complaint. I hope no one uses it while I'm gone (because then I'll feel replaced), and I hope it's still here when I get back, and I hope I'll be able to find some sort of comfortable accomodations in Germany. But, as we all know thanks to Judy Garland, "There's no place like home."