I'm having a harder and harder time coming to terms with the fact that I'm leaving on Thursday. Even though I know that I'll still be coming back to New Jersey many times over the next {x|x is the number of years necessary to earn my masters} years, something keeps telling me that this move is of the permanent type. While growing up, Meredith and I always talked about moving to Los Angeles when we were older. Now here I am, actually doing it, and all I want to do is stop packing and curl up in my bed. I keep telling myself that I'll be fine once I get there, and especially once I get a job (damn New Jersery address).

In related news, I'm almost done packing. This is good in that I'll be able to mail off all the boxes tomorrow and finish everything else. This is bad in that I'll probably have too much free time tomorrow night.

On the other side of things, I'm really looking forward to the beach. A picnic on the beach. The beach always makes everything better. Unless you drown. But I don't plan on doing that.

Now I should go surround my books with bubble wrap, styrofoam, and cardboard. And finish cleaning up the disaster formerly known as the living room.