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.