I am going to have to move moment-by-moment for the next four days. Like, take cookies out of oven. Put cat outside. Make tuna sandwich. Brush teeth. Orchestra. Pack weekend worth of clothes. Find tail. Sleep.
I have been feeling 50% apprehension and 50% anticipation for this weekend ahead and the going home for a last time. I have such a preemptive hole in my heart when it comes to the people, house, town, state I'm about to say goodbye to that I've been aching for weeks. It will be less permanent than I'm picturing, I know, but it will still be a turning over. I'll miss the willow tree. Have I mentioned that? And the picture window in the living room. Being in that place was always so warm--of the heart, I mean--and I am not yet convinced that the warm I have found and am finding down here will ever match it.
I am usually not afraid of change because it proves to me again how malleable I can be. I adjust. I always adjust. And maybe not always, but often, I like the after-me better than the before-me in the end. So. We'll see. I'll say the goodbyes. I'll run my hands up and down the stairway walls. Maybe do one last frantic lap around the house up one flight of stairs and down the other. I think if I have time I'll walk up the hill to my old elementary school. To see it. I think maybe I'll fall asleep curled against my mom on the brown loveseat and take a picture of the Tree I Let Live (there's a story) and circle around a few of the neighborhoods that made me who I am.
And I think I will cry myself to sleep at least once. I'm not trying to be an adult here. I'm just going to feel. The maturity will come later.
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