This is 18 W. Gilman, signing off.
All my possession have been boxed and labeled. A shoebox full of memories has been packed away and marked Misc. I have thrown away most of the evidence of my studies. The garbage truck came to add it to the landfill somewhere distant.
The music is all packed up, so there's only melodrama on the tv to be my background noise.
Moving partway across town is a rather strange experience. It's not so much a new life as a parallel one. The same place but a new space to reconfigure--the same game, but I've hit the reset button a couple times. A new house. A new combination of personalities--seven of us instead of two. We will have five bedrooms and basement.
I've quit two jobs to start a new one. I sort of wish I could box both of them up and take the best parts with me, too. Then again, what would I label Nonsense and Giddiness under? I'm not good with goodbyes. But Little Katie gave me eye contact, and a smiling see you later yesterday. Even she's getting better at it. Maybe it's time for me to develop the skills I've been teaching her.
Maybe it's really time for 18 to turn to 210.