jaala

When movers came today at 9am, I wasn't quite ready. I had stayed up all night working on my room, but I had to clean up the (disastrous) mess before I could start sorting and packing. So I directed them to the section of the room they were supposed to deal with, and then kept handing them new items that I had just found/remembered/washed that they were to pack. Anyway, they finished and left, so I'm now left with a huge mess of stuff (to pack to take home) on half my floor.

My parents thought a professional moving/storage business would be a good idea; if I'm at a different school next year, I can get my stuff shipped instead of having to go get it in person.

Admittedly, I got distracted several times during the night. I would come across one of the many sentimental items I've hoarded in my room and not be able to resist sitting down and looking at it more closely.

Once my phone was gone, dorky fun was had calling myself on the payphone, leaving silly messages, then retrieving them remotely. (Well, yes, I was testing to see if one could still leave and retrieve messages...)

On a trip to basement to get some boxes, I came across my favourite feature of the house: a wall with lines, names, and dates marking the heights of the children who grew up there. The dates go back at least as far as the 1920's. Paint has been added all around it, but that one spot remains unaltered. As the children got older, they wrote their names themselves, so you can see how their handwriting got better with time. The university must have bought the house in the 1960's, because that's when students' names start appearing. It's extraordinary how respectful everyone has been too. Despite the fact that (mostly younger) students have lived in that house for at least forty years, there is no real graffiti; a couple people added comments, but even the most intrusive one is simply a doodle of a smiley face with the speech bubble, "Das ist gut." (This was the German House for a while.) I got my camera and took some photos. Then I noticed that my housemates had added their names, so I got a book, measured my height as accurately as I could on my own, added my name, and took another picture. I must have spent at least 10 or 15 minutes standing in the corridor to the basement, reading the names and feeling wistful.

And, on that note, I will end the entry now. I tried to eat at the meal hall and accomplish some final errands about an hour ago but everything was closed. Perhaps I'll be able to get something done this time.