My roommates are in town this weekend to help pack things up in preparation for what will be the last leg of the Longest Move in the History of Moves. In about six weeks, we’ll be driving cross-country with three cats.
Even though it’s been this crazy long journey with all kinds of detours, it hasn’t felt completely real. I think that’s because–whenever we finally got this close before–we would push it back. Mostly because money was tighter or we didn’t feel like we had enough time. Or our cat almost died. Over and over and over again. We had so many detours, and I’ve felt like my life has been splayed across two states–which it really has, actually.
It’s just felt like it would never end. I was actually pretty happy to have a few more months in Denver, but now that we’re just six weeks away from closing this chapter–I dunno–I’m freaking out a bit. I wasn’t until tonight–when I realized this is the last roommate visit before we actually get all the stuff that’s left and finally hand over the keys.
I wasn’t like this when it was just me going. It was fine then. But taking all the stuff, handing over the keys, and finally smashing three lives together? I’m nervous and emotional about it.
For one–it’s a risk. A real risk. If something goes wrong, there’s no safety net. For two–there are other things making me doubt how wise this is. And well, then, there just leaving this place that has always just been home. And my parents. How do I finally leave them? It feels like it’s for good–though I *know* it’s not. I’ll come back. But it will never be the same. I’ll never be the same.
I’m terrified we won’t have enough time to pack it all up–and basically–it’s all me until we go. How do I do all of this? I’ve procrastinated so much. Everything is such a struggle for me when it comes to closing this door–like as much as I want to go–something else is begging me to stay. And, well, yes–that’s exactly what’s happening.
I feel like I won’t have time to say goodbye to them–to drive to Never Summer or do the things I need to.
And I need to, right? I do. This was my idea.
But it would be so easy to stay. To just forget about this silly thing. To just not even go.
I feel like a little girl–probably because that part of me is what is driving these feelings. And I have six weeks to heal that part of me and finally say goodbye.
That’s what I’m afraid of. But I’ll keep fretting about boxes and whether I should buy a new mattress.