The cinnamon bread was WHERE?

Unpacking after a weekend like this--after a Yale life like this--is going to be, I have realized, the most absurd struggle-fest ever.

Finishing up my packing on Monday was tough. After the JE ceremony, I kept expecting some sort of closure, some final farewells, and there really weren't any. We were graduated; we were fed lunch; we took some pictures; and then everyone went to pack, which felt horribly anticlimactic. "Here's your diploma," says Mother Yale, "But do be a dear and clear out by noon." I ended up missing goodbyes with some people because of that, so hopefully I'll send some emails this week that'll fix that problem.

But somehow, I managed to get everything in boxes or bags or suitcases or rolling carts or Tupperwares or, really, anything that would hold anything else. And I even managed to get it all done by the time my family came on Tuesday to help me move out, despite staying up in the JE courtyard until five to say my reluctant goodbyes. Of course, being a local, I've never gotten the hang of efficient packing--I'm a subscriber to the "throw it in the car and see if it'll fit" rule--so my sister ended up repacking my suitcases for the sake of space. That is to say, she put anything anywhere it'd fit well--which means that when I started some unpacking last night to search for my contact case, I found the following items in short succession:

• a music stand
• a John Grisham novel
• a scrubbing sponge
• my toiletries kit (including my contact case)

and, finally, half a loaf of Pepperidge Farm cinnamon swirl bread. Perhaps the packing theme was "rectangular objects"? Whatever the case, I think my unpacking adventures will be something like one of those I Spy books that we all used to read as kids... "I spy a photo, four pens and a book, some coffee beans, steak knives, and pasta (uncooked)..." Oh boy.

I miss you all already. I'd reflect on my leavetakings from Yale, but I don't think I'm ready to do that yet. Not until I write my FroCo reports...