bag theft and the passing of an era

I baked a frozen cheese pizza tonight. It was sufficient for my needs, but I lost taste for it after a while. My stomach feels odd.

But that’s not the point.

While storing the last section of uneaten pizza for later grudging consumption, I used my very last Ziploc sandwich bag from the blue box. And not just any blue Ziploc box, mind you. This one had my name written in large capital letters on multiple box faces in thick black sharpie. This was my Ziploc box from college–the days when I shared a kitchen, and was somehow frightened of the possibility of a roommate snatching one of my bags without feeling guilty about it first.

Not much in my apartment is left over from my college days. Still, much of it is either on the way out or might as well be for all the good it does me. For instance, yesterday I spotted my last planner that I used–or rather, should have used–during my final semester at Hope. Why it still reserves valuable shelf space, I do not know. I should sift through my books and move the important ones up and the might-as-well-be-recycled-into-a-t-shirt books off the line.

Other items in view might be my television, computer, and printer. I even have my backpack which I take as an overnight bag when I, you know, have an overnight … which is never. But I could, and so I keep it. And no other bag I’ve seen so well utilizes chartreuse and Caribbean blue. But honestly, as a grownup should I even own a backpack that didn’t come in a matching luggage set? I don’t even own a luggage set; the big suitcase I have was a free find on the side of the road last year. If you’re shocked by that, so were my dining room table and my desk chair. Perhaps this apartment is a bit more “college” then I let on…

But past all the journals I never have the courage to read, and beyond the old text books in which I wish I had invested more time, and ignoring the black embroidered pillow my roommates gave me for my birthday that leaks enormous balls of stuffing every time I use it … there is a feeling of “moving on” that has finally come upon me. Perhaps it’s because I moved and was forced to purge and start anew. Perhaps it’s because I don’t yearn for any “good ol’ days” (that weren’t all that good most of the time). Or maybe I’m somehow coming into my own (my own what, exactly?). I don’t know.

Maybe thats not the point either.

Sometimes you can just tell when you’re coming to the end of an era. My Ziploc box ran out today, and all of a sudden I feel freer than I did before.

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