I’m moving tomorrow. You might have noticed. I am as relieved
as you are, that soon I will stop talking about it and just do it already. I am relieved, too, that the worrying, the
panicked running around, the worrying, the stress, the running around panicking,
will soon be over—for this particular stage, anyway. I cannot wait to move, if
only so the actual process of moving will finally, at long last, be over.
Yesterday I ran around the city for some last minute
grooming appointments. My hair, eyebrows, mustache, a Brazilian, even. People in Utah have perfectly good hair, eyebrows, naked upper lips and lower ones too, I am
sure, but it felt like I had to get it all done here, one last time. And it
didn’t hurt when my hair guy said, confidently, as he whacked away at my bangs,
Oh, you’ll be back. You’ve got to! And I agreed.
Today, we are up so disgustingly early. We have to load the
truck up, as quickly as possible, and I will pack up modem, going offline, and
that will seem very momentous, I’m sure. I must remember to write down
directions, first, to Utah. Those
will be helpful. Then the cleaners come, to erase everything I’ve done to the
place over the past few years. We will have lunch, and try not to fall asleep
in our sandwiches.
The move out inspection, which will suck. Then dinner with
K.T., which will not suck at all. The bar, where I get to say Goodbye,
everyone. Don’t forget about me, please? Leave a little Anne-shaped hole in
your heart. I suspect I am going to be very sentimental, with a few drinks in
me. More so than usual, I mean.
Bed late, up early. Climb into the truck, locate the directions I hope I will
not have lost, and drive away. Up over the mountains, through Reno and into
little town. If the universe has any sense of poetry at all, it will begin to
snow softly, huge and perfect white flakes, as we take our exit, turn down the
side streets, pull into my driveway. And I will be home.