Nothing will get you to bed earlier than the thought that you have only two more nights to sleep in your own bed.
Tomorrow begins the annual move from the comforts of home to the quasi-comforts of dorm life. Now that I am equipped with a car with a spacious trunk, I will be driving a load or two of the heavy stuff down to UU, where I will wrestle it up the stairs and into my new home.
Well, maybe the lighter stuff. The suitcase had better wait until Saturday. And the mini fridge. And maybe the textbooks.
I love school. Really. Once I get there. But in the few days before I have to move back in, I start thinking about all the things I’ll miss.
Sleeping in, for one. Being able to take naps (the dorms are a light sleeper’s nightmare). My parents. Having control of my diet. My parents. Long, quiet evenings sitting in a huge comfy chair drinking tea. My cats. Did I mention my parents?
Then there’s the smell. Home has a smell. It’s a good smell—clean and comforting, like cookie baking day at Christmastime. Dorm smell, on the other hand—not so clean, not so comforting. The smell is a combination of every perfume and body spray ever marketed to women. There’s so much estrogen in the air you could bottle it. Not that you’d want to.
I will also miss having a kitchen. I’ve gotten used to having periodic command of the kitchen this summer, the latest evidence of which is the peach pie sitting on the stovetop at the moment. Cooking in the dorms is probably the closest to wilderness survival this suburban girl will ever come. Improvising with hot pots and kettles and coffee makers and clothing irons is a daily adventure. The things I’ve learned to do without the benefit of a microwave or an oven are mildly impressive. This year I will add a mini-blender to my tiny camp kitchen. For smoothies.
You’d think that a whole summer (not counting my weeks abroad) would be enough time to spend amongst these familiar comforts. Sad thing is, it’s never enough time. There’s never enough time to do the things you love, like being with your parents, petting your cats, or going to bed early.
It’s true, I suppose. Time does fly when you’re having fun.