Dawn... they day before moving... mist shrouded fields mercifully
covering broken trinkets lying buried in piles of crap.
Tomorrow we attack! But the mens' spirits are down. My patience has
run away. Little things send me ballistic. No packing tape? Declare
war. Can't find a clean pair of socks? Nuke 'em high.
There are boxes.... everywhere. My back hurts. Dust in the air (sore
eyes). Every night we hunker down on the couch for some down time as
cities of cardboard grow around us.
I've got a clipboard with "things to do" and every day it gets longer
and sillier. No way is all that going to happen. Houston, we WILL have
loose ends.
Can't get nostalgic for all this. If it was Portland summer with blue
in the sky and green on the trees, I might have another view. But
right now the view is only of cardboard boxes and a "to do" list that
won't get done. And outside, the view is gray with a 100% chance of
drizelling rain.
My enthusiasm for leaving is driving my wife nuts. She loves it here
and wants to mourn. She hates leaving a job she loves. If I say
anything anti-Portland, she asks me to stop.
But I feel like I failed here. Sure, the soft money thing worked but after
two years: forgetaboddit. Too phone calls about too many crap ideas.
Time to go. Time to get some more stability in my life. Also, time to pack more boxes...
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