the bunk beds were sold on friday so we’ve been sleeping on the floor.
our shelves are gone, the bookshelf sold, patio set bought.
our suitcases have to be packed with everything we can manage within the 50 pound/bag allowance. a couple friends have even taken a bag on our behalf just so we can get it all back home.
and in a lot of ways, due only to all the decision-making stress, i feel ready. but in most ways, i feel like i just started reading this chapter and already the final paragraph sits before me.
it always knew it was going to be this short, but i didn’t.
i don’t want to say goodbye to walking to arbutus for coffee and seeing my sister behind the counter. she’d come over to my table and we’d exchange stories about the idiotic customers i served the night before and the idiotic customers she served just a minute ago.
i don’t want to say goodbye to 4th avenue. to mintage and zulu records and noodle box and videomatica and maple market. our neighborhood haunts.
i don’t want to say goodbye to late nights spent in dim lighting listening to noah and the whale, fleet foxes and bon iver. i’d huff my way home and when i unlocked the door i always knew we had that.
i don’t want to say goodbye to the teddy jar that has all our receipts in it, or our indian bells hanging in the window, or our paper snowmen taped to our kitchen window.
i don’t want to say goodbye to catching up on all the time with my sister i missed out on while i lived in africa and she lived in australia. oceans apart.
someone is telling me to warm up to the next chapter and all i can think to say while i grip this page is, “well, no, wait…this was going to be…just..hold on, just a second…”
and if life worked that way, if life listened, it would stop. we’d all get to live in a still picture.
but it doesn’t. it’s moving and going and the waves keep coming and the merry-go-round never tires of spinning.
so if we can’t stop it, we’ll soak up all the details and carry them in our purses till we’re 90.
tomorrow we’ll do just that. stay tuned…