It’s been coming on for a few days. Finally sitting on the floor in tears, wondering why I continue to put myself through such huge changes. Packing is fairly easy. I am methodical to the point of annoying the hell out of myself. Lighten up, woman. It does not have to be this perfect. Well it does because I won’t settle for any less.
What is hurting is doing it alone. I don’t have very much in the way of possessions. Hardly any photographs or mementos. A scruffy old teddy bear that I care for more than all the rest. He is even going by courier, which puts him up there with my ASUS G7, with the teddy being rather more valuable in my eyes. Note to relatives here – when I go please make sure I am holding that teddy bear. And no, he does not need fumigating. He just smells odd.
What I miss is someone to share this task with. To say, ‘Look remember when we went there and you bought that’, and ‘Are you really planning to wear those shoes again.’ Someone to tie me up in packing tape to make me slow down and sit still for a while. This task is twice as hard because I just can’t put it aside and get on with my book, which is what I should be doing. My mind is fixed on that deadline, now just two weeks away, when I get on the plane and go.
Sure it’s a great adventure, but someone still has to put the colour-coded labels on all those boxes, don’t they?