I’ve lost a friend, and now I’m stuck on Memory Lane.
I’ve lived here for seven years now. Or at least, it feels like seven years. Time doesn’t always work on Memory Lane, and it’s pretty lonely here, so I have no one to ask for it.
I don’t like it here. I want you to know that. Desperately so. I’ve never liked it here, and yet for seven years I’ve stayed. If there is nothing else that you take away from this chapter, let it be this: Memory Lane is not a happy place for me.
This morning I packed all my things into little boxes and called the movers. I waited all day–only stepping away from the boxes once to rearrange the photos on the wall. Night came and they never (show)ed, so I unpacked everything. Tomorrow I’ll probably do the same thing. I’ll do the same thing on Tuesday as well.
I don’t know what day it is anymore,
but I know I’ll do the same thing on Tuesday as I did today.
American Fables 