Today’s the day, probably: the last day in my house. Part of me wants to stay here until the last possible moment, while the other part of me thinks that moving out right now will help me divorce from the emotional aspects of it all and put me on the path towards being more business-like about it.
The third part of me, the lazy bastard, is still looking around at all the stuff yet to be packed and getting depressed into inaction.
As much as I try to be excited and optimistic about the new job, being back where my family and friends are, getting a new apartment and letting it all be an opportunity for yet another new start; the depressing aspects of it all keep intruding. Leaving my little bungalow is so much harder than I’d expected, it very quickly became my home. Since I have decided to rent it out, at least for the time being while the market is in the hell pit, I’m not exactly losing my house — no, I’m simply going to lose less money on it than if I’d stayed in it. But I will be on the other side of the country hoping that my tenant doesn’t destroy it. That is, assuming I find a tenant.
In the next few hours I’ll be packing up this computer, dishes and towels, and other last minute stuff — which, being last minute, will just be shoveled into boxes with no pretense of care. It’s time to start living out of a suitcase for the next three weeks as I travel back and forth to DC twice in that short amount of time; first by plane and then finally by roadster.
I hope my sanity makes the trip with me.
Wait. You’re moving back to DC? I’m not sure how I missed that rather huge nugget of information.