I want to backpack. I don't care where, I just want to throw my life into a backpack and see the world. I want to spend months and months seeing everything and anything.
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Until that point, I will be throwing my clothes into the same backpack that carried my books and booze in college, and backpack my homestate of Michigan.
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My fabulous mother handled empty-nest syndrome by doing what her daughters were doing. She enrolled in university. Unlike her daughters she was not spending her nights at the bar but writing her disertation. While we were complaining about 3 and 4oo level classes, she was complaining about her doctorate.
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Now, after all that work she is graduating from the first class at Wayne State University with a doctorate in nursing. YAHOO!!!
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Which leads me to living out of a backpack. I have no problem living out of a bag, I enjoy it actually. The problem with living out of a bag is packing it. The backpack that will travel with me around the world is large enough to fit me. The bag that needs to fit under the seat in front of me, does not.
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Everything is getting rolled, and wrapped, and folded so tight, it's looking like snakes in a can. The only problem are the socks. I wear two socks, one on each foot, I put both socks in the washer and then into the washer, and somehow, only one comes out.
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I know there is not a green monster in the actual dryer eating them, I've looked. This does not rule out a monster in the lint trap, or in the vents, or even behind the dryer. The sock monster might even be lurking in a corner, wait until I leave, and then steal them. Or, my socks are facing the same marriage dilema as Brittany Spears and K-Fed, and just divorcing whenever or wherever.
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So, wish me luck as I cram clothes into my bag, and Mom, I apologize if I only have one sock on at your graduation.
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