So it's been an interesting week. The tic-tocking of my own imagination making the moment slow to a crawl. I've been trying to get some "packing" done...or at least some thorough throwing away(ing?)... This is usually my favorite part of moving. An excuse to traipse through my taped-up boxes and flip through old journals. I read an entry from my 99-03 journal about the day I met Valentine. Fittingly, the very next entry (a week later) was about our first argument. Old photos, old birthday cards, old notes I used to pass back and forth with Hoody in science class. Neatly packed again, shipped again, unpacked again.
I'm beginning to hope this time will be the last of the moves. The nomad is reformed. She seeks a place to lay her shit, let the dust settle around it and create grooves on the floor. She's said this before...but maybe it's within reach now.
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