It so odd returning to places. My home when I was there no longer felt like home and returning to cliff feels like I’ve never left, it’s enough to drive a girl a little insane. Its definitely tough though, I thought this when packing, its one of my least favourite task that I ever have to do. Whats even more disconcerting is that I forever seem to be packing. This year alone I packed stuff to go to work, to go to a friends to return to cliff, shopping. Ou lives involve so much packing and unpacking we don’t even realise it any more. It makes me sad. I do it so obliviously nowadays that it can’t be good. How many worries, dreams, hopes, and disasters have I packed in these bags with them hoping that they won’t re-appear. It’s not so bad when you pack in a hurry, your thinking more oooh what if I forget this, but when you have the day or have to take what has been your home down with you, you remember all the things that have been packed away in bags for to long, old friends, memories of different camps or homes or places.

There is a lot in this packing and its just to tough.
I worry that one day I will literally and metaphorically pack everything away in a bag and leave. Leave what I know, what I love, what I dream, what I despise, what makes me cry. What if I pack up God? What happens then?

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