the girl's summer in denial comes to a screeching halt

I haven't written in so long.
That, of course, is an understatement.

I'm currently sitting in Brit's living room waiting for my homemade egg noodle dough to dry enough to cut into what will probably be my dinner (and the dinner of all my friends) for several days. I have been staying at Brit's house for over a week now, baby-sitting her dog and pretending that I once again live in LA. I've been seeing the boy regularly, going to dinners and shows, meeting his sister, brushing our teeth together and waking up in the morning to see him off to work. It has been nice. comfortable. Several times I have caught myself thinking, "I could get used to this...."

But like any complicated lie, the truth soon rears its ugly head. Brit returns tomorrow, and I will retreat back to OC to attempt to sell my car, give away an apartment worth of belongings, and begin packing for my move. My self-delusion will eventually give way to reality and all of the casual nights watching movies, taking dogs for walks, and generally playing girlfriend/homemaker will be replaced with "okay, so I can probably make it up next thursday, but only after rush hour, and only if I have a place to spend the night."

The truth is, I have enjoyed playing house back in my old neighborhood with a boy that takes me to my favorite restaurants and wants to spend every day with me. With only three weeks left, it becomes difficult imagining going back to the way things were a few months ago, meaning pretending that we're a couple and that i'm not going anywhere. In his painfully quiet way, I can tell the boy is feeling it, too. Instead of improvising, we've begun to make definite plans weeks in the future, trying to squeeze out every LA experience we can before I leave. I'm feeling the pressures of family, friends, and responsibility.

I still can't say whether or not anything would come of this if I wasn't leaving. Sometimes I let myself daydream about falling in love again, waking up next to someone who knows me best, spending holidays and weekends together as a complete unit, in sync with each other's moods and nuances, ways of speaking and telling jokes. I feel myself forcing myself to pull back, to assess the situation rationally, logically. I find myself questioning what the point of all of this is, what it's going to end up doing to me, or worse, to him.

It's always easier being the one who leaves. You have the opportunity to reinvent yourself, to change direction, to discover new things. Life isn't the same as it has ever been before. The person left behind, both physically and emotionally, is left with the same life and the same experiences, but without the person who has become a fixture in it all. I feel like a terribly selfish person when I let myself dwell too much on what's to become of him after i'm gone. In my own overly analytical and self-depricating way, I assume all responsibility for what becomes of this relationship, this friendship that I have allowed to develop. But is it really me holding the puppet strings? He has known, like all of my friends, that I am leaving. Isn't it ultimately his responsibility to take care of himself? Is he?

I'm not sure how to resolve this situation. I care about him, but i'm not in love with him. I've carefully distanced myself from those feelings on purpose from the beginning. I guess that all that's left is to enjoy the few, fleeting moments I have left, to embrace all of the good things that have happened to me this summer, and begin to prepare both myself and those closest to me for my imminent departure.