Of things mundane

Naturally the first step before going away for a long time is packing...among other things, like getting a visa and filling out numerous forms, and signing away my soul to the French government for 7 months.  But packing is pretty high up there on the list.  Alas, I can't seem to get motivated to do so.  Perhaps it has to do with the fact that I'm being lazy, or maybe it's because there's a chance I may not be returning to my childhood home as I always have in the past (my mother is moving).  Not only am I packing clothes and books for my trip, but I'm also packing up my life...or at least my life in the sense of possessions.  I'm hesitant to pack up my already paired down belongings and say 'goodbye' for a time to each memory attached to a book, an inlaid wooden box (made in Poland), and pictures...among other things.  I don't see this as being materialistic, just as an attachment to memories and emotion assigned to certain objects at this moment in time.  See, the more I pack up, the closer it brings me to leaving the place I grew up.  My roots, which have always run deep, are now being transplanted.  I certainly don't see this as a bad thing, but it's hard.  Growing pains, if you will.  My room has always been my sanctuary and now I am forced to find a new one; a new room, in a new house, in a new country, and perhaps not have a sanctuary waiting for me in my own country when I return briefly next Summer.  I will return a foreigner in the country of my birth.  You see now my dilemma.  Packing for something like this is a lonely journey, but an exciting, scary, and awesome one.  Wish me luck!  I've begun my laundry and will be sorting through my clothes shortly.  Isn't it amazing how something as simple as folding clothes into a suitcase can carry the weight of something as immense as a life?