I've never really moved before. I mean, sure, I moved to college, and I moved to this apartment, but I have never had to completely vacate a place that I have lived. I've always lived a short drive away from my parents. This is the first time I've ever had to do a large scale move, and with no experience, I'm sure I'm making "tols of nistakes" in my moving procedures. 

(First of all, I haven't actually packed anything yet. Considering that I have to move in three days, this is something of a problem. I tried to start packing today, but I have no boxes. Man, I suck.)

I started off by making an extensive list of, basically, everything that I own. I own a lot of shit, man. DVD player. Candles. Bottles of wine. Art supplies. Coins. Clock. Holy water. Wrist fluffies. Then there's the sentimental stuff: gifts from my sister, old cards, souvenirs from my cruise, photo albums, Flicka. 

Not to mention all the stuff my grandmother gave me, every time I'd go over there. "Minikie, dis is a be-yoo-ti-ful bowl. And if you take da bowl, you need da for-uk and knife to go with it, and da plate, and da cup..." Thanks to Grandma, I have enough kitchenware to equip an army batallion. And most of it is ugly and from the 1970s, but oh well.

Before my grandmother died, I really hung onto a lot of this stuff with a white-knuckled grip. "I'm going to want this when she's gone," I'd think. "I can't get rid of anything that belonged to her." But I've changed. Since her death, I've realized that the detritus of her life--in the form of kitchenware and romance novels--isn't important at all. I could care less about it. Keeping her stuff will not bring her back. And getting rid of the stuff will not detract from my memories of her, or my love for her. 

Consequently, I've been a lot more likely to throw stuff out, since Grandma died. It just... doesn't seem important anymore. You know, in the grand scheme of things.

But even throwing stuff out, I realize that I have accumulated quite a bit, these past two years. The list is long. I've been making notations next to everything indicating whether it's 1. coming with me to the motel; 2. being stored at my parents' house until I move into a place; 3. being stored at my parents' house indefinitely; or, 4. being stored in my grandmother's garage. 

And I feel a hell of a lot more organized, now that I've done this.

Then there's the question of what to do with the remnants of my relationship. The "I am so in love with you" cards, and the 'I am going to marry you" e-mails that I printed out. The love poems, the stuffed bear, the T-shirts, the photos... I'll save some of it. I'll try to strike a balance between letting the relationship go and remembering the happy times. 

When I came back from San Francisco a couple of days ago, I was pretty apprehensive about walking into the situation. I was finally feeling optimistic and, as I said a couple of entries ago, interested in the future. I figured I'd take one look at Matt, and backslide into tears and pain.

Not so much.

To my pleasant surprise, I've been keeping a firm grip on myself. I've tried to focus on the positive. While I was up in SF, I got some distance from my pain, and I am trying to maintain that distance. Of course, it's not been easy. Last night, I went to bed and listened to him breathing. My first thought was, Only two more nights of this. This is one of the last nights I will ever sleep next to him.

But I pushed the thought away. I started thinking about my classes, and my new home, and moving. I started thinking about anything that would keep me from crying. Because I don't want to feel that way anymore. It hurts too much, the sustained torture of slowly losing the one you love. 

We also had a really good talk about the whole thing, and I understand his motivations for leaving (me) a lot better, now. I asked him if he felt like he was quitting, by moving back to Massachusetts. Many times, he had claimed he wanted to stay in California, and now he might be perceived as "giving up" and going back.  I think I would feel that way, in his place, so I was curious as to his response.

He doesn't feel he's giving up. Quite the contrary. He feels that his move to California in the first place was running away. Running away from a shitty family situation, and using Marcy as his excuse. He feels like he's finally facing up to the stuff he's run away from. If anything, he's slightly worried that he's not going to be able to hack it in Massachusetts. 

Matt wants to test out his newfound maturity, and cultivate adult relationships with his relatives and friends. He wants to make a life for himself in Massachusetts that is, for the first time, stable and healthy. 

He screwed over some people, including his ex girlfriends, and hurt them pretty badly. He wants to apologize, and make amends. He wants to be there for his mother and grandparents. His sister is about to have another baby, and he wants to be there for her. 

(He didn't say all of this in so many words, but I extrapolated.)

Obviously, Matt has done a lot of soul searching to arrive at this conclusion. He's had to weigh his feelings of "home" and his love for his family and friends against his relationship with me. I can't really be too hurt that I lost the contest. He's not leaving me for another woman. He feels no animosity towards me. I did nothing wrong. He just feels that going back to Massachusetts and being with his family is the right thing to do. And it's not necessarily easy for him to do, you know?

At first, when I realized I couldn't hate him, it made the situation harder. Hate would have been a nice emotion to have. It could have supplanted some of the searing pain of loss. But now that I'm calmer, and now that I understand a little better, I'm glad of it. I wouldn't want to end this relationship with hate and anger. We're just, sadly, moving in different directions. 

Neither of us wants to stagnate. And it seems that being with his family is as important to Matt as grad school is to me. He can't follow me around our whole lives. He is, perhaps, not ready for the sort of commitment I want from him. He's not ready to let go of his family and create a new one. He has issues he needs to resolve.

He broke up with me cleanly and honestly, something he never did with any of his ex girlfriends. I think it's a sign that he may be ready to go back and slay the dragons that plagued him throughout childhood. Then he'll be ready for a relationship with someone. Not me, unfortunately, but some lucky girl out there. 

It doesn't mean I hurt any less, and it doesn't mean I'm happy about it. But I understand his motives, and I respect his decision. 

And that's quite something.

Speaking of which, my grandma gave me a pair of bookends the other day. They are from Holland, and they are very heavy. They are a pair of monks, carved out of some dark stone, with open books nestled in the folds of their robes, heads bent studiously. I haven't named them yet, but I love them.