If there was any going back before, there sure as shit isn’t now–I suppose technically I could dig everything back out from all the boxes it’s in and hook it all back up, but if it’s taken me seven or eight hours just to rip it apart I can’t imagine how long it would take to put it back together.
That’s right: topside you see the naked cold furniture preparing for its trip to storage-land (the basement of Jessy’s ever-so-kind parents). You can also see part of my foot. It’s so dusty in here that I was actually just overcome with a miniature fit of The Croop, notable solely because of the echoes that such actions now produce. Though I expected more melancholia than what I’ve gotten, going through my drawer of birthday/Christmas/holiday cards and letters from family and friends was a little sad. Of note: a tiny, multi-page handwritten letter from my mom, originally given to me as I left Iowa for Pittsburgh just about three years ago to the day. I suppose the words of wisdom contained therein still apply: always remain an ambassador for where you’re from. How true!
Tomorrow at 9:00 the chariot arrives; from then we load up everything that’s going. Two days later I’m off to Iowa for a week, then after a final three days in Pittsburgh I’ll be on my way to Japan. Even now, with my job over, my stuff all in boxes, the furniture dismantled, the utility cancellations scheduled, and a minor collection of Wii and 360 systems/accessories/games laid out to be readied for my luggage (hey, a few years is a long time), it’s still only barely real. I have my new address, pictures and information regarding my schools, my apartment, my classes, my city–months of mental preparation and research about the culture and the day-to-day workings, and still I’m stuck in a sort of dull, defiant disbelief: “Yeah, sure, okay. Moving to Japan. Uh huh.”
I’ve gone from six months to three months to eight weeks to six weeks to a month to three, two weeks, and time just ain’t getting any slower.