strange communal transition

It seems everyone I know is in some state of flux. Counting the number of people moving would take more than one hand ( if I needed fingers to count). We are seperately packing boxes, loading cars, driving away, flying away...

Most often when a person moves, it becomes a communal thing, a group effort, even a party. Everyone helps and it goes quickly and having friends around somehow makes it all more bearable. And always there is pizza and beer at the end. This time is different for all of us. We are each too busy to help the others. Too preoccupied with what is happening in our own lives to notice the chaos we are all spinning through. Our lives are too busy, too scheduled and the simple act of packing boxes has to be squeezed into the moments between. Sadly solitary moments.

We want to. We want to take the time to say long goodbyes to the few who are actually leaving (or who have already gone). We want to spend long afternoons in the park (we are all disc golf addicts now) and we want (more of) those long nights by the fire together that we are becoming accustomed to. We don't want to miss anything... or anyone.

But the world spins faster in the summer, and boxes must be packed and unpacked, and flights have to be caught, and then there's festivals, so many festivals. It's the kind of busy that buzzes like bees. The kind of busy that you simultaneously love and curse...

I have to go. I am actually too busy to be writing for so long.