Too early to panic

A mere 41 days stand between right now and keys to the new place.

That’s a big number, right? And it represents a veritable wealth of hours, doesn’t it? It feels like minutes to me, because I’ve been telling people I’ve got a big cushy month and a half before crunch time, and now that approximation feels like a huge lie.

What is “crunch time”, anyway? That doesn’t feel like real slang.

I’ve lived in this apartment for more than five years, and Scott has been here for ten. An entire decade! And yet, part of me knew that I’d eventually see this place empty. That’s going to be a bittersweet sight. I might not even take pictures of it. This, though, is a time to be relished, because it fleets. It’s fleeting right now, as I chip away at the red wine (the more we drink now, the less we have to move) and watch it pass.

I’ve already gone through almost all the packed-away boxes, some of which I haven’t gone through since moving here yonks ago, and I’ve been ruthless. My Nintendo Power magazines are in my past. Ticket stubs? What ticket stubs? THEY ARE DEAD TO ME. Beck at the Queen E in 2005? Only if I have any recollection of it actually having happened. Memories is all I’ve got now. It’s also all I had before, aside from tiny bits of paper that I’d completely forgotten about.

Ruthlessness. I am completely without Ruth. And it feels spectacular. I don’t even want to keep my CDs. Is it a shiny circle? I don’t want it. I have a hard drive for all that jazz (and rock and roll and shibuya-kei). So far, I’ve reduced no fewer than 5 boxes of ridiculousness to a single not-entirely-full box of ridiculousness, and that contains really important things like Hello Kitty figurines and thumbtacks.

My knowledge of floating homes is still in its infancy, since I have a massive 41 days until I actually have the keys to one, but I know that fewer material possessions is a good thing, because a big enough anvil collection could sink a house, unlike those land houses that belong only to the fabulously rich where I live. And there’s been a bit of heartbreak, especially when I decided to part with my mid-90’s Nintendo Power magazines, but I’m facing the future, baby. A future on the ocean with my cat and my boy and a head full of memories.

Hopefully my big overloaded head doesn’t sink the place.


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