I sorted out the things I'm going to take and we boxed the rest up to send them down to Watermouth via train. Books, pans, paints, cutlery, plates and all my clothes were packed into a suitcase, a rucksack and a big cardboard box.
Dad and I are taking the box down to the station on Saturday. No going back.
I'm so stupid, feeling sad and dwelling on the passing of the last chapter instead of looking forward to the next. It’s a negative way of thinking.
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