Tuesday, 19 August 2014

Pre-departure blues

August 19th.  I'm sitting in a mostly empty apartment.  The last pieces of big furniture have just been taken along with the last dregs of the things I expect to give away.  The rest is trash, and I know it.  No one wants it.  Not even me.

A week ago I sat on the couch where I had the first kiss with the girl I love.  I slept in the first bed I ever purchased for myself (still the most comfortable I've ever slept in).  I typed at the computer I built myself.  Each of these custom made pieces of life, and when I rested in them, they all fit.

Now there's nothing that fits.  I'm sitting on bare floor.  There's nothing else to sit on.  I have a backpack I need to pack, and when I hand in my keys, it's all over.

Is it possible to excise an organ that you don't need?  Something that feels like a part of you, but then when it's gone you're still you?  These past 2 years have been the most stable in my life, in this humble little apartment.  I lived, cooked, ate, hosted, fell in love...

Now, in the gunshot echo of the mad scramble to get rid of my belongings, mostly what's left is just to pack a backpack and walk away.

I don't know why I took on 20 days of volunteering and recovery right before I did this... why I functionally only left myself 2 weeks to pack up a whole life... I mis-stepped.  Exhaustion has me, and there's still a lot to do.

I don't want to walk away from the woman I love, not even just for 6 weeks.  I don't want to pack, get rid of everything comfortable, rip up all these contracts.  I don't want any of this.

But... I made my Ulysses Contract with myself.  I'm tied to the mast.  This is happening.  For all intents and purposes, I leave town tomorrow.

The rest of this trip might put today in context, but right now I just feel sad to be tearing things apart like this... and sad to be leaving.

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