By Marisa Franchina

Oh September first, you must hate me just as much as I hate you. August 23, you are a close second in my compendium of “Dates of Misery.” Northeastern University gave me and countless other students the boot on this fateful day and I became a transient. On-campus housing is pretty sweet until they try to kick you out a week and a half before September first. Everyone in Boston knows to stay off the roads on September first. The day when countless college kids all decided to play musical chairs with their apartments. Just the thought of a 20 year-old driving his first U-Haul is enough to make me cringe. Mission Hill’s one way’s and awkwardly twisting streets became a chaos of mattresses, futons and frustrated parents. The smart kids stole a shopping cart and simply pushed their posessions down The Hill to their new place. Who knew Stop and Shop would be U-Haul’s competitor? My parents have even come to hate you September first. After every year (or six month period) they say to me, “Marisa, you’re not ever going to move again, right?” And I assure them that this time I’ll make this a home. I’ll love my roommates and always remember to lock my doors so I don’t get broken into and I’ll decorate! I’ll paint! Yes, this year will be the last I’ll hear from you, September first. The curbs and sidewalks are all overrun with somebody else’s trash. Not that my moving team would have allowed for time to look for treasures. Stolen street signs are returned to their rightful place on the street. Countless futons, rotten mattresses, and empty kegs make it difficult to walk down the sidewalk. September, your opening day of dread always comes so soon. Oh but I have learned my lesson, you have taught me well. I no longer throw away the boxes I moved in last year. In fact, I’ve used the same three boxes for a couple of moves now. I’m hesitant to even bother to put up posters anymore. This sense of impermanence has had a profound effect on my four years here in Boston. My work place has been more of a dependably familiar place than any residence I have had. Moving on-campus to off-campus to home to abroad and back again has taken its toll on me and I blame it mostly on you September first. Just when I was beginning to have a home you come around, with your cool weather and packing tape. I lose my roll every year. September first, you mark the return of cool weather, the end of summer, back to school sales and the apartment shuffle. I curse you as I make eight thousand trips up and down and up and down in the elevator, carrying ten books at a time. Why the hell do I have so many books? I swear, by next year, I’m getting rid of these (thank you, Ebay). And so, you and I, First of September, we must agree to disagree. For you will always be the sand in this city’s sandals and I will always love the ocean.

-Marisa Franchina is a senior journalism major.