“You look great,” she said. I laughed, skeptical.

“Really? Thanks! I haven’t been sleeping well at all lately.”

“It doesn’t look it. I meant to mention it earlier.” She smiled at me. “Rosy cheeks, bright eyes, ready to go.”

If anything, it was the result of cream blush and coffee. She had one out of three right: I am ready to go, at least in terms of action.

But there are so many boxes. The ones that are still in an empty stack in the living room, needing desperately to be filled. There isn’t as much stuff — much of that has already been transported and stacked in the other living room, the one to which I officially move on Sunday — but there are still dishes to be sorted, bags to be filled with things that will eventually be thrown away and the desk and small tables that will be loaded into my (angelic) brother’s van over the weekend.

I haven’t been sleeping well, not for the last couple of weeks. Tonight will be an early night if I’m unconscious by 1:30 — which is doubtful anyway. There’s just been so much to do. The funny thing is that my late-night hours haven’t been spent doing any of it. They’ve been spent online. Watching television. Delaying the processes that mark a sense of finality.

I wish I had professional movers and packers at my disposal. I’m tired.

I said the bulk of my goodbyes today, and they were distributed along with the slices of cakes — I’m a two-cake affair! — cards and well-wishes. It felt the way I’d hoped it would. Sad but filled with laughter, marked by what I perceived as a sense of bittersweet enthusiasm for my impending relocation.

I wanted to know that I’d be missed, that I’d left some kind of a mark. It would appear that I will be and that I did. It felt good to know and somehow helped me leave. “Keep in touch” wasn’t just a string of words this time.

I can sleep in late tomorrow today if I want to, but I know that my odd sense of self will actually rise earlier in the morning than has been the norm. I want to tackle most of these boxes before another meal out and another round of take cares. This round will be especially poignant. Odds are good that I’ll cry.

I need to respond to emails. I need to make some calls. I need to pick up that hooded college sweatshirt I’ve been meaning to buy since back when I was in school. I need to figure out my schedule for the next couple of weeks.

Damn. I need to buy myself that organizer. And then remember what box into which I pack it.

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