Moving.

On the whole, I don't particularly mind moving. I like moving into a new place and making it mine and whatnot. What I hate is moving out. It's such a pain, like, seriously, especially for lazy people like me. I'm relatively organized, at least in a system that I understand, but it's just frustrating.
I don't want to stuff my life into a bunch of boxes and tear apart what I built for myself.
It's like laundry, or showering. I don't really want to do it, but as soon as I do it, I feel much better. Okay, it's actually nothing like those two. Because I don't feel better after packing. I just feel lonely. Empty. And I'm always the last one to leave, so I usually have some abandonment in there.
Yes, I know, this post is depressing and unhappy, but I'm a little on the depressed and unhappy side. First night without Brandon = weird and lonely. Even when we weren't doing particularly anything, we still were together, enjoying each others' company. And it is so obvious to me that without him I have no social life, besides my horses, that it kills me.
I have so much going on this weekend. I have work from 9-4 (yeah, like a real job!) then I boogie back to Provo to shower and get ready to drive to Layton for the workshop with JAKE GARN (he's this photographer I completely idolize). After I soak up some of his genius, I get to drive home and pack... Yay... I'm going to try and get as much packing done as I can so that when I actually have to move I don't have much to deal with. There's just so much stuff. I have so much stuff, it's astonishing to me. I'll probably have to do laundry in there somewhere, then my parents are coming to pick up my big stuff and come to the barn to meet my best friends in the universe. Somewhere after the barn, I'm going to come home and finally do my last bits of homework, write pleading letters to my professors apologizing and begging them to pass me, and get as much of my to-do list done as I can. Then comes Sunday, which is going to REALLY be crappy without Brandon. It makes me hurt just thinking about it.
Then comes a week of... what? Working... cleaning... packing the last scraps of life I have at my place... Selling back textbooks... Trying to shake my feeling of constant icky that settled on me months and months ago. Heck, maybe even years and years ago.
Sigh. Here we go.