Ever since I turned in approximately 30 pages of written work (divided into two essays, I should add) about various themes in Asian art, things have been pretty leisurely for me. Instead of racing my way through a pitiful breakfast at Appel while editing an essay, I’ve been waking up early to dine on homemade smoothies and toast with peanut butter. My dreams are no longer filled with the disapproving voices of every scholarly source I cited in my bibliography, and…

...my shelves are lined with pleasure reading instead of dusty tomes about dragon iconography in material culture.

Provided I didn’t somehow totally fail my papers, of course, I’d say that I now officially qualify as a junior, or will once these 2012-ers move on so the rest of us can move up.

As much as I’d love to lose myself in the luxurious life of writing short stories, waiting for Spike to get resurrected on Angel, and reading as many novels by Pulitzer winners/nominees as I can get my hands on (recommendation of the week: Karen Russell’s anthology St. Lucy’s Home for Girls Raised by Wolves), I have to take care of a few less academic sundries before I head back to my island home. Yes, I’m talking about every college student’s favorite task of the year: moving out.

I didn’t really mean that “favorite task” comment sarcastically, you know: I actually think that packing up would be fun for folks who live close by. Think about it–after a week of grueling exams and essays, your parents suddenly appear like Gandalf the White to pile the contents of your veritable Ariel’s Grotto of a room into the family car, and you all ride off into the sunset. (If you’re an East Coaster who’s experienced otherwise, please, don’t disrupt my rose-colored vision.)

Like a lonely Frodo, however, I must corral the detritus with which I’m currently co-habitating all by myself. And trust me, as much as I’m basically an expert on Buddhist art at this point, I’m no ascetic. I have tons of stuff. In order to complete my sophomore year, I have to transform this…

 

…into the original empty single I found waiting for me last August.

Because my family’s too far away to drive the getaway car, I’m also forced to explore the wonderful world of college storing. Although there are ten billion—I mean, several companies that provide shipping and storage services at Cornell, we happened to select the one that sends its boxes to you in a giant…well, box.

Now, I'm all for equal treatment, but I would've been perfectly happy if any guy (or girl!) had offered to help me carry these dudes down from Appel.

Oh, but it gets better! After you’ve lugged your Russian-nesting-doll-esque box of boxes from the postal office nearest to you, there’s more work to be done. Boxes just can’t be mailed in their natural form, you know. You must, as the Avengers would say, er, ASSEMBLE.

Oh boy, a congratulatory box-flap label! I feel so much better about my decision to pick this company now! (But actually.)

Of course, if you're a silly kid-at-heart, boxes can provide hours of entertainment. (Fun fact--it took a few minutes for this Ivy League student to figure out how to climb back out of it.)

All my toil was, however, rewarded in the end. Check out this beautiful container! Exceptional box indeed, am I right?

Obviously I should switch colleges and get my Bachelor's in Cardboard Engineering.

Tune in next week (i.e. Thursday) to find out what happens when the burly folks from the storage company come to take all of my worldly possessions away from me!