Boxes

Since I am in the midst of packing to head home for the summer, I've been thinking about (or, rather, frustrated with) boxes. For instance, what's the point in a box that can only hold about one normal-sixed book? And why does nothing ever seem to be able to fill up the box perfectly? It would be so much easier to pack things if boxes were able to hold everything just so. Personally, I'd much prefer a Mary Poppins carpet bag to a box.

Another funny thing about boxes: in a way, they represent life. Just think about it! We pack much of our material objects away in boxes that I'm sure everyone thinks of as associated with their life in some way or another. And all that food in the grocery store first came out of a box.

It's kind of sad seeing so many filled boxes lining the hallway as everyone prepares to go home. It means that some of the girls and guys I've gotten to know over the past year I may not see again for a very long time. Some I may never see again. And otehrs I'll see at the end of the summer. Still, the boxes look a bit forlorn in their shades of brown lined up in waiting to be carried out to a car or to sit across the way in Schroeder's storage.

I personally hope to not have nearly as many boxes this coming fall.