I’m fitful and nervous about the coming days so it takes no physical effort at all to leave the comfort of my bed behind at 5am. The force holding me back is mental, emotional, and I take my time carefully making the bed, running my fingertips over the worn pink and orange comforter as I smooth it out over the sheets. “Jesus Christ, Jensen, pull your shit together,” I mutter to myself, clenching a large chunk of fabric in either hand and then re-tucking it. By the way I’m acting, you’d think it were the last time I’ll ever see Gram’s house and not like I’m going only six miles up the road. To a house where I’m expected to do as I’m told, but still. After I open up an Internet radio station, I flip my suitcase open and set about the tedious task of pulling my clothes down from the hangers and neatly storing them into the bag. As I work, I sit as many of my black items of clothing aside. Black drop waist dress that I’ve only worn once.
