migration

it has been raining a long time... for days even. i woke up this morning at 7am and the sky never got brighter. the heavens have alternated between night and dusk, skipping day entirely since tuesday. if i didn't turn on a light, every room in my house would remain black and obscured.

but lights have been on, in every room, and i've been working. i've been separating my things, my belongings, into those-that-will-accompany-me and those-that-will-not. with the vast majority belonging to the latter.

i am saying my own little goodbyes to books that i won't read for a year... to furniture... to surfboards... to a very lovable couch. i am segregating the inhabitants of my kitchen into two groups... half the glasses to go with me... half to go into storage. all the knives. all the pots and pans. all the spoons... i couldn't manage without spoons.

it is challenging to pack your things while you still want to live with them. there is a small tear of separation when you unplug something you use everyday and you know it'll be two months before you plug it in again. it is a guilty and dependent kind of sensation, because you know there is no reason why you NEED that particular thing every day... but you do not welcome the daily pattern change with open arms.

how much easier it would be if i could just put it all aside and read a book until the movers come. oh but i can, and that is what will happen, but for now there is the slow and procrastinated measure of steps downstairs with each armload of sundries that will find it's way either into my new home, or else the cold purgatory of storage.