Tomorrow I move. Everything I have right now can be packed tightly in a little Toyota Yaris. Laundry travels easier when dirty, so screw the laundromat. I’ll have plenty of time to sort through things I stash into bags and boxes, all mix-matched, once I get there. After all, I won’t have cell service or high speed internet.
Where I’m going the town is claimed by a pack of wolves and Elk share the landscape. The UPS delivery man leaves a company package on the doorstep of a townsperson because he knows the current place of business is closed and heard through a friend of a cousin that said townsperson has recently been hired on there. Where I’m going, everyone knows everyone else’s business. Mayberry meets Dodge is where I’m going.
Writing this piece feels strangely like a last supper. I fear that I won’t be able to keep my commitment to daily blog posts since the internet connection is tenuous at best. So I haven’t touched anything to pack it. Instead I stare at my screen and grasp at words and keystrokes … romancing the moment as if I will have to visit its grave tomorrow.
I think I probably won’t sleep tonight. Although I know how important change is, I detest it. I know this move leads me closer to a settling, where I will no longer have to live from suitcases and boxes. I don’t care. I just can’t help wondering what this will do to me.
Will I become a TV blob again, now that internet and cell reception can no longer feed my kindle reader? They do have satellite cable there. Will I resort to my hermit ways since going for a hike could result in a gunless confrontation with a wild carnivore? Everyone tells me I should break down and get a gun. Will I become a gun owner? Heaven forbid – is it possible I could end up a Republican?!
Tomorrow I move, but today I sit. I am stationary and immobile in my foot dragging procrastination. Staring over the cliff of change, I wonder, will I enjoy the fall and will it hurt when I reach the destination?
[This post is related to Rosco P. Coltrane]