That's less time than Lindsay Lohan spent in jail.
And that's how long I have left in DC.
My brain is mush, basically. I have nothing funny to say. But I have nothing devastatingly sober to say, either. I'm just thinking - about what I'll miss, what I won't, what I've learned, what I'm leaving. What I'm returning to, what might come next, what could go wrong, what I hope goes right. It's like my mind is on constant spin cycle, but everything's still all wet & lumped together.
Twelve days left to fit it all in.
I'm applying for jobs, of course, but I'm also trying to live. I'm ticking things off my 101 in 1,001 List before I go, like visiting Eastern Market & trying 10 new beers & doing some freelance work. And though there are a million things I'd like to do before I go, my remaining days are already booked with lunches & dinners with friends, with activities like trivia nights & cupcake-baking, plus the necessary evils of packing, of selling things on Craigslist, of figuring out how on earth I'll transport my bike back to Ohio - & leaving time in between for tears over packing tape & cardboard boxes, of course.
Twelve days left until the end of this chapter.
"It's been a good adventure," my mom says. But it's not just an adventure: It's my life. After three years here, there's nothing else I know much of except these people & this place. It was my decision to go, & I can't regret it. But packing my bags & driving away from this city is about to be one of the most difficult things I've ever done.