Moving Day
The hourglass in the back of my head is quickly losing sand. Moving day is just seven squares away and as usual, I am uncomfortably ahead of schedule.The stone tablets of history have pre-recorded my fate, and who can blame them?
My mental print queue only holds so many threads. When too many items are added to it, some are invariably punted. If I know anything, I know my own weaknesses, helpless as I may be to them. So, to combat insufficient RAM, I make lists. Lots of lists.
This leads to annoying situations where I can forget to mail a bill for 14 consecutive days (no list), but I can plan a move across the country to the smallest detail (extensive listing), and stick to it.
All loose items within my control are either packed or scheduled to be packed at an appropriate time. All the paperwork is done, all the appointments made, and most of all the address forwarding is done. All that's left is the waiting and one half day of moving.
Why is this efficiency uncomfortable? Because now I am so far ahead of schedule that I can relax and kick back a little. Once that starts, it's just a matter of time until I'm behind schedule. And so it goes ...
So, this will be my last weekend on the eastside. To celebrate, I'm off to the Cactus Club on Friday night to see Crime and Judy. If the Doc is around we'll hopefully hit a few of the old watering holes.
I'll be back, but it won't be the same. Age and time constrict around your chest so slowly you scarcely realize that parts of you are dying. Of course, you could say that new parts of you are being born, but that's just rationalization.
Parts of you die for different reasons. Some parts die when they cease to be used, other parts die because they were overused, and some die because they just aren't important enough to maintain. But nothing new is ever born.
A young man is a tightly wrapped jumble of options and choices. The older you get, the less able you are to keep it all together. You let some things fall while other options remain tightly in your grasp. It's not new, but it feels like it. Nakedness in itself is a "thing". Something you need to get used to, get good at, ...but mostly get used to. Because wherever you are, it's not the end of the line. You don't become an expert at dealing with 6 month old babies, because in a few short weeks you are suddenly a novice at dealing with 7 month old babies.
It's an orderly procession,(sort of) like marching a fourth grade class from the caffeteria to the library. We all know where we're supposed to go. We're just waiting for the bell when we'll one foot in front of the other, and try not to lose our way.
I guess I'm trying to say, ...goodbye eastside, and all that you were to me. From Miller Lite, to Tecate, to Newcastle. From the hot dog guy, to Grecian Delight, to Jimmy Johns. From Landmark, to the Globe, to Esos, to the Vox, to the Garage, ...fare thee well.
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