Restlessness

I can't concentrate on anything.
Sleep doesn't come easily, and when it comes it's too long or too short.
I'm not worried about finals, and it's hard to force myself to study.
A large suitcase sits underneath my desk, a duffel bag next to my chair, and every so often I get the urge to add things to their half-empty bodies.
My shelves are half-filled, a large stack of books now transferred to my dresser where they await their return to the AHA building.
I'm constantly trying to think of things I can leave behind or use up so that my luggage will be lighter for travel.
I treat myself to drinks or scones or other British food, knowing that it might be my last chance to savour these things for a long time.
I tell my heart to be still, my mind to focus on homework, my restless body to settle down; it doesn't work.


I'm leaving my home.

I'm going home.