Count Down

It’s Tuesday.  We leave next Tuesday.  As in, vaccuum up the crumbs that used to be behind the couch and leave.  This is when the instinctual voices of self-preservation begin yelling “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?  ARE YOU CRAZY?  WHY DID YOU QUIT YOUR JOB?  ARE YOU CRAZY?  THERE’S A CLIFF AHEAD AND YOU ARE ABOUT TO GO RIGHT OVER IT!  ARE YOU . . .”

And the voice of intellect and imagination and vision has to say “Chill out, man.”  Or perhaps, “Yes, we’re about to go over a cliff.  Isn’t it exciting?” Or, “Here, have some chocolate.”

Upstairs, I hear our tortoise waking up and beginning to bang his head against the glass walls of his tank.  He’s trying to dig his way out.  I’ve told him that soon we’ll be in California, and that he gets to live outside there.  He’ll like digging in real dirt, I think.  I would, if I were him. (If I were him, I would also have realized long ago that you can’t get out of a glass tank, and I would have stopped butting my head against it.)

Well, on the agenda today:  visit the Oregon Museum of Science and Industry with the boys for the last time.  Buy Joseph some new underwear.  Clean the refrigerator.  Pack another box or two.   Play guitar, imagining that I am not surrounded by boxes and clutter and bread crumbs and chaos and uncertainty and unknowns and . . .

Chocolate, anyone?


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