Saved and saved.

There’s something so therapeutic about going through all of my worldly possessions and packing them up, knowing that I won’t see most of them again until I’m unpacking in a real house with a real husband. To the untrained eye, piles and boxes and bags fill my apartment, but I see essential items and semi-essential items and stuff I’m too embarrassed to let even a future husband see.

So I’ve loaded 10 liquor boxes with the essentials and two trash bags with the throwaways. The stuffed bunny that signifies all of the torment and passion my three-week relationship in ninth grade could muster? Out. My Spanish notebook from college, so I can remember my long-gone bilingualness on a rainy day? Saved. The hideous brown, pearl snap shirt with a torn collar? The shiny, red zebra-print pants? Saved and saved. Sounds a little Benny Hinn-ish. The saved part, not the red zebra-print pants.

But the pants and the pearl snap shirt are vital elements to my wardrobe, to be saved for the perfect costume party or dress up for a bambino, whichever comes first. I have my reasons.

I’m tempted to get nostalgic during this countdown to moving. But last time I said “goodbye” to Common Grounds and my church and Waco water, I found myself back here three months later. Not to my disappointment, by any means, but the sentiment loses its luster when I find myself saying, “Oh, look. Hoards of both crickets and grackles. I thought I said my goodbye to these for good.”

So to my ninth-grade love memento and Texas, I don’t say goodbye. I say, “Cheerio!” For no other reason than it sounds more cheerful, and if Cheerios start your day off right, they end your blog entry off even better.