stop making sense

Moving always implies self-reflection and bittersweet life-summing. I ask questions like: where am I at? Where have I come from? Where am I going? I ask these, I address a certain somebody, as I stare at the accumulated keepsakes around my soon-to-be 'old' room. Moving likewise implies a certain anxiety. Will I be able to manage my finances? How much will I have to work? Will I be able to work? What does the future hold? All of these expectations. All empty, and full. I wonder what it would be like to have no expectations. I think of that great song on Beggars Banquet. But to be human is to have expectations, always empty and full.