One Week 'Til SLC

Is it bad to say that I'm sick of saying goodbye?

I don’t remember when these more-than-temporary-but-not-necessarily-permanent goodbyes started. Those are the, “I’m not going to see you again before you leave for college” goodbyes, often coupled with “good luck.” With every time someone wishes me well, I feel like my response grows less and less sincere.

"Thank you so much! I'm really going to miss it so much here." 

"Thanks so much! I'm really looking forward to it."

“Yeah, I’ll be around over Thanksgiving break. That’s just a few months, right?”

“Thank you! You, too!”

“Thanks! I appreciate it.”

"Yeah, thanks."   

“Take care.”

Those were for my high school teachers, my cello teacher, some friends from school, people from work, distant relatives, and friends in Delaware, OH.

Then the other category of goodbyes suddenly started. The ones for my best friends, all of who have moved into their dorms, met their roommates, and eaten dinner in their cafeterias. OSU. Kenyon College. American University. Science-Po. NYU. Macalester. Case Western. Wright State. They've all moved in. Those goodbyes felt like goodbyes to my closest friends as they embarked on their new life, almost, but not at all really, like I was being left behind. I have to keep reminding myself though that, no, I’m not getting left behind; my ship just hasn’t sailed yet…

…and that’s almost scarier than being left behind. Because I know I’m next.

Yes, I suspect that this is the impending-doom feeling that I was warned about. Sorry to be dramatic.

Most of my panic derives from the fact that I haven’t even seriously gone shopping for the “stuff.” Sheets. Soap. Boots. Poster hangers. Pens. Sticky-notes. Etc.etc.etc.etc.etc. It seems like the list gets longer and longer and longer with every college-packing-advice source I read. A week from tonight will be my first night at SLC and I don’t even have…well, the stuff. Working my summer job in retail has turned me off of “stuff.” But that’s an adult-thing that I’ll need to face: buying washcloths, among lots of other “stuff.”

You know what’s pathetic? I’m freaking out about buying things, but I live down the street from one of the biggest malls in the Columbus area. And if that’s not enough, I live even closer to Target, Old Navy, and BED BATH AND BEYOND. Somebody with the a master-plan set this up for me so that it would be too easy, and yet I remain at my kitchen table, typing my stress away.

So there's the packing stress. But the overarching stress is definitely the goodbyes to people that matter to me. I calculate the last time I'll see certain people, recognize that it is in fact nearly permanent, execute the appropriate action ("goodbye" "see you soon" etc.) and then move through my list. Teachers from school, one by one: check. People I volunteer with: check. My best friends, one by one, either in person or over the phone: check. My boyfriend: check. And the latest one, my Grandma: check. That was the first close-family-member-who-lives-in-Ohio farewell. She bid me au revoir with towels and money "to buy things that I discover that I need for my dorm after I've arrived." I recognize the sadness, but I'm relieved (two less towels to buy). Goodbyes to come that I may cry over: my three other grandparents, my sisters, my brothers, and my dad. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

Hello, hello, hello, hello. Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye. 

That's all there is.

And the leaves that are greeeeeeeen turn to brown. 

I’m sick of writing about goodbyes. I’m gonna write about my new lawyer.

Okay, I don’t actually have a lawyer. I’ll explain.

This summer I worked at the Columbus Zoo; my last shift is days away. I assure you, I’m not a Zookeeper. The closest  come to working with animals is when I get to sell dead fish at the Stingray Exhibit (feeding stingrays, by the way, is so worth two dollars). Anyway, the Zoo’s credit card policy is as follows: if the back of the card is unsigned, cashiers, re: yours truly, must ask for an ID. I accidentally just typed “idea.” I’d love to ask a customer for an idea sometime; maybe tomorrow. I enjoy carding people because it’s fun to see where people are from. Most guests hail from Ohio, Michigan, Pennsylvania, Kentucky, West Virginia, or Indiana. I’ll get the occasional foreigner (that’s always cool), and from time to time, a New Yorker, like in today’s scenario.

The cashier next to me, Patrick, carded a woman with a New York driver’s license. I noticed and asked, as the rules of small talk say, “Where in New York are you from?”   

“Tarrytown; it’s about 30 minutes north of Manhattan.”

Funny. That’s the exact same way I describe the geographical location of Bronxville.

“Anywhere near Bronxville?” I ask, trying to manage my excitement at the coincidence.

“Yeah, 10 minutes away. You from there?”

Patrick bagged up her “stuff” and we idly talked about Westchester county, the area, and I joked about crashing her place if things went wrong.

She gave me her card. Seriously. She’s a lawyer with an office on East 42^nd Street who lives in Tarrytown, just north of Bronxville. She said to contact her if I ever needed direction for stuff to do in the area.

What if I need a lawyer? I guess I know one now.  

So yes. There are goodbyes. But there are also hellos to come. And a new autumn. And goodnights. [Time for bed so I can clock in at 8AM tomorrow chez Columbus’ Premier Tourist Attraction.]