I Like The Way You "Move"

To begin with, this blog entry is about the fact that I'm moving out of my college dorm room next week, and I decided in light of the fact that I've been busily packing all week and putting things away that possibly the blog title should reflect this in some sort of humorous way.

Do you have any idea how many songs have "Move" in the title? I swear, I spent about twenty minutes trying to figure out just which one to use.

Movin' Out - Billy Joel
Move Your Body - Nina Sky
I Like To Move It - . . . . the name will come to me
Movin' On - Good Charlotte, Default
Dare You To Move - Switchfoot
I Like The Way You Move - Bodyrockers

And there are others. There are many others, but for the sake of this blog being a reasonable song, I mean size, I will not list them.

So! Moving! Moving Out! Of College! Next Week!

That's the gist of it.

I am to leave this place of education and love in about a week, and to leave this place of education and love means that I have to get rid of all of the crap that has somehow accumulated in my dorm room over the year. And if you ever saw it, you'd wonder how I lived there.

No, I'm not a slob. What I am is one person who believes that everything has a place, and therefore should be in one, and this includes every draw being filled to maximum capacity until they threaten to burst from the hinges. Also, if the hanger rod in the closet isn't hanging halfway to the floor, it isn't carrying enough things, and the same goes for the pile of books, the desk drawers with all the papers and writing supplies, the weird little knick-knacks that are everywhere, the microfridge leaning onto the floor under the weight of a hundred magnets . . .

So I'm a hopeless packrat. I get that. But the time is MOVING OUT time, so I have to get rid of my carefully organized mess.

The food in the fridge and under my bed in the containers? It all has to go. As of this minute, it is all sitting out, with the open invitation to anyone passing by to take what they want and take it far away.
My desk drawers are empty. That was a struggle, half the crud inside them was determined to escape. I swear, my stapler tried to bite me as I took it out of the drawer.
My clothes? I won't get started on those, but I will say this:

WHOEVER YOU ARE, STOP SENDING ME CLOTHES!

I leave home every year with only what I need, and then it snowballs.
An aunt sends me a shirt.
My parents by me something they saw in the mall.
My best friend can't resist a wordshirt he saw for me.
Every organization I'm a part of decides to renew their club t-shirts for the year.
I suddenly realize that I can my toes through the shoe I am wearing and rush to replace them.
My socks mysteriously disappear and I must get new ones.
Someone stopping at my room leaves a shirt and it winds up in my laundry bag.

It never stops, so I leave college with more clothes than I came here with.

In the end, you see my point: moving out of college is harder, much harder, than moving in.

And don't even get me started on unplugging my computer wires. Not yet.