Thursday, October 18, 2007

closer still

hello! (she purrs, with a slight degree of difficulty)

how are you this evening? i am quite fine. blame it on the cocktail fairy, if you must, but i find myself lightheaded, spinning slightly and in great danger of tripping over my tongue - all of which i find quite, quite fine, indeed.

i am here - alone, for a change - and i am enjoying it. so rare is the occasion, that packing has been set aside in favor of sitting quietly and enjoying the sound of laundry in the dryer, frogs in the field and the cat bathing her dog. i forget, sometimes, how much i enjoy the freedom to move and think and express myself in ways of my own choosing - away from disapproving eyes and minds and not on anyone's schedule but my own. perhaps it's this idea, and not the martinis, that leaves me feeling slightly intoxicated. whichever the cause, i am happy for the dizziness and for the breathing room.

the last few days have been a blur ... lots of racing around, fitting everyone and everything in - in to my schedule, into boxes - until there's no room to move, hardly time to blink. sleep is a stranger these days. when he comes, infrequently, he brings with him all manner of strange dreams and never stays long. i expect to collapse fully when i finally reach the coast.

the movers come for my things in eleven hours. the house is a maze of boxes - piles of things to take with me, things to send with them, things to return for later. i head out on sunday morning, bright and early, and will trek twelve hours to el paso, where i will sleep in a hotel which will accept chutney, the globe-trotting feline, and then awake - again, bright and early, to drive yet another twelve hours to land at my mother's house. if time allows, there will be small stops along the way for turquoise and truck stop treats. i might even make a quick detour to the grand canyon. what's a few extra hours vs. one of the wonders of the world?

sitting here in my sea of cardboard, i can't believe the end is so close. my last day at the store was wonderful and horrific all at once. leaving them makes me sad beyond measure, even as my whole self stretches out toward the new adventure. there was little work to be done ... just spending time with amy, stumbling through memories, eating our weight in chik-fil-a nuggets and crying like little girls. and tonight, i had dinner with liz - cheap wine and greek food and talk of growing up, growing old and growing nostalgic for the good parts of the bad old days. and it reminded me of a) how much i miss her and b) there just isn't enough time to say the things that need to be said.

there's always tomorrow night and what promises to be a ridiculously large karaoke drunk-fest in my honor. maybe there will be time then.

in answer to your questions - yes. i do look forward to the beach. the way i look forward to a day off or an opportunity to write or to silence ... or a letter from friends far away. i look forward to my feet in the sand and to being surprised by a wave and to the color of light that only shines there ... pink and orange to the west, an arc of deepening blue hovering above ... in that light, my freckles ... my skin ... takes on a golden glow, as if i've been covered with sparkling confetti.

as close as i am, it's still hard to see me on the horizon ... but one day, there i'll be, with no questions that need answering and forever looming in front of me. and when i finally do get there, i'll be sure to call, though i know you won't answer, just so you can hear the joy in my voice and know that i am, at long, long last, home.


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