Thursday, January 29, 2004 :::
 
[you guys wouldn't believe how many "draft" posts i have. blogger never shoulda made that an option, it appeals to my indecisive side!]

2,890,800

thanks to "seasons of love" from RENT (one of my favorite musicals of all time), i was able to very quickly calculate the number of minutes contained in 5.5 years.

Five and a half years.

My room has never been this messy, and as I sit at my desk and view the chaos I call "packing for the move"...I'm already moved - emotionally, that is.

I'm running out of time. In 24 hours my parents will begin their drive down here to pick me up. To take everything (that will fit into the full-size rental car) and bring me back home. I don't think I've felt as conflicted as I do in this moment in time. I'm looking back at what has been and what could have been, even what still could be. And in front of me is the promise of other, similarly wonderful things that can and will happen...mingled with the obvious challenges and sacrifices that come standard with the wonderful.

I'm sifting through clothes to give away, wondering what will happen to them once they leave my possession. I'd like to believe that someone with much less in the world than me will benefit from them. Another layer against the cold. Part of someone's cute outfit that they were able to piece together in the bargain bin. The majority of my non-fitting, gorgeous and once-expensive BR work shirts went to another Kristina...may she wear them in good health. I have things which I know have no monetary value, some things that would get laughed at on the counter of a Buffalo Exchange, and some things I can't believe I'm giving away. But it all has to go. Either it will take ages for me to fit into them again, I wore them too much already, or it's out of style. *shrugs*

Everything is associated with a memory. I'm the epitome of a sentimental fool. My mugshot is right there in the dictionary. Believe it or not, I had a dilemma over an old shirt, which fits but isn't essential. It's currently in the "maybe" pile. I have dresses that I've worn multiple times and have been in hiding long enough to either drift into obscurity or reclaim a hanger in my new closet. Also members of the "maybe" club. Then there are my ASH polo shirts...one was from my 1 year anniversary with the company, the other from the special party we hosted for the military families that first Christmas after the "war in Afghanistan". I'm proud of both, and they're good quality shirts. I can keep those, right?

I haven't even gotten to the papers and pictures yet. I'm thinking that's going to be easy, just "not important: throw away" or "important: keep". There's more thought into clothes because someone will actually wear that stuff. (I hope.)

I'm so wired, partially because of the Red Bull I drank earlier...plus the adrenaline of the task at hand...and lastly because I'm taking in the last of this chapter of my life. Pretty soon my level of privacy will be much different. The places and faces that I've come to know will slowly drift into my memory as our meetings become less frequent.

In a way I know this sounds so shitty because I miss homehome so much too. But I can't ignore that I grew up here. I can't ignore the amazing things I've seen, heard, done, and LEARNED.

I am forever changed by this place and all it adds up to. No matter what anyone else's opinion is of my time and choices here in San Diego, none of this can ever be taken away from me.

Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes,
Five hundred twenty-five thousand moments so dear,
Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes,
How do you measure,
Measure a year?

In daylights,
In sunsets,
In midnights and cups of coffee,
In inches,
In miles and laughter and strife,
In five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes,
How do you measure,
A year in the life,
How about love...?
Measure in love,
Seasons of love.

Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes,
Five hundred twenty-five thousand journeys to plan,
Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes,
How do you measure the life of a woman or a man?

In truths that she learned,
or times that he cried,
In bridges he burned or the way that she died,
It's time now to sing out (though) the story never ends,
Let's celebrate, remember a year in the life of friends,
How about love...
Measure in love, [measure your life in love]
Seasons of love...
(words and music by Jonathan Larson, RIP)


::: posted by sugar at 4:17 AM

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