The Many Moods of Moving

...But maybe the hawk was time in the sky,
gliding clockwise, counting the days, weeks,
years of diminished tomorrows and dawning
recognition that this summit and sky
and those far peaks aren't now but forever.
--Charlie Langdon, "Thanksgiving Over Santa Fe," from The Dandelion Vote


Imagine this: You're in the shower, making an attempt at a few moments of peace before you start the day, when you realize you only have 16 more weeks left at home. Then the math kicks into high gear--that means you only have 16 more dances! That means only 30 more shifts at the bookstore! That means only 16 more weeks to see friends! So you start crying.

Imagine this: You call every truck rental place you can find to get a decent rate on a moving van, but the best you can do is $1,400. (Or, in layman's terms, one month's salary to drive oneself 900 miles.) You only have 16 weeks to come up with this obscene amount of money. Say hello to anxiety-induced heart palpitations.

Imagine this: You're a dyed-in-the-wool Jersey Girl who can't go shopping for at least 16 weeks because every spare and un-spare dime has to go toward "The Move." Appropriate emotional response: crankiness.

Imagine this: You're out and about, enjoying a beautiful Southern California day in February, when you almost get mowed down crossing a street because the driver couldn't be bothered to stop before turning the corner. And let's say this is easily the hundredth time it's happened in 10 years. So you think, "Hallelujah! Only 16 more weeks to spend around these farging iceholes!"

Imagine this: There's a friend you've been trying to get a hold of for 2 months, but to no avail. And then you think, "What if I don't get a chance to see him/her before I move?" And then the crying starts again.

Welcome to my emotionally-wrecked roller coaster ride of the near future. If you see me crying, don't worry about it. Just come back in 15 minutes. If I'm cursing a blue streak, take it as a celebration of my impending change of venue. If I leave a message on your voicemail, please call me back. I only have 16 more weeks to see you.

I'm feeling a bit disjointed and rushed these days. I have lists coming out my ears--things to do, things to get, things to accomplish, places to go, people to see--and my lists are driving me crazy. But I've got to have them, because I seem to have the concentration skills of a goldfish lately. Most of the items cost money, and that seems to be in shorter supply than ever these days, which adds to the anxiety. And the lists keep getting longer and longer, with very little being crossed off.

Last week my TV Guide horoscope said I will meet somebody new. Meet somebody new?!? Who has time for that?!? There are books to be packed, cats to be vaccinated, utilities to be canceled, insurance companies to be researched, dances to go to, a car to be tuned-up and registered, taxes to do, woodworking classes and art exhibits to go to, and blogs to write. Somebody New is going to have to meet me in Colorado... (I'll be there in 16 weeks!)