kestrel

kestrel
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2022-04-19 02:39:12 (UTC)

Unloading - April 2022

Personal entry follows.

The past couple weeks have been a blur. It's a slurry of waking up with the sun, watching birds, packing boxes, dropping said boxes off at various thrift stores, random messages to and from friends... Wrapping things up round here.

It's absurd in a way to be unloading so much stuff. Or maybe I'm just taking my time. But it seems like after I pack one box, I just need to take a break and watch one more video of marble races on YouTube. After loading the car, I have to play one more video game. After disassembling that shelf and stacking and labeling all the connecting hardware, I just need to eat another orange.

I've woken up a few mornings in the past couple weeks, and have just wandered back and forth in the early sun. Not even sure that I want to make a pot of coffee. Just kind of idling to and fro, treading a worn path into the carpet. I walk this way, I gaze out the patio doorway at the feeding birds. I wander back the other way, and contemplate going to the bathroom. No I don't have to go yet... I wonder if there are any birds eating their breakfast? I spend a good 15 minutes doing that, eventually shaking myself out of it and yes: brewing a pot of coffee.

I have a large amount of food stored in my own personal pantry, as I didn't share food with my housemates. I really can't take it with me. Rather, I can't fit much of it into the car along with what passes for my only worldly possessions. I make two of my own meals in the day, chipping away at my lentil/rice/bean cache. The evening meal is takeout, typically Chinese or pizza. It's essentially the same food routine I had while working. The only difference is that mealtimes aren't stratified or on any solid time-table. I eat whenever I want. Considering the exercise bike is now in storage as of this past Friday, this might not be the best routine to cultivate or maintain my health. Hopefully all the packing and loading and unloading has helped me maintain some level of physical fitness.

Every time I've moved from one place to another, I've always adjusted my value system. What shall I keep? Years ago, I finally dropped off my old letter jacket from high school at a second-hand store. This year, I was considering saying goodbye to my high-school senior yearbook. I had my papers from the screenwriting class I took in one of my final semesters of college, and they went in the recycling today. The professor's final remarks and "A" grade were written with blue ball-point ink on now-yellowed notebook paper. I read through one of my assignments - the first 15 minutes of an episode of "The Drew Carey Show" - and had a good laugh. I chuckled while bidding that assignment farewell. I've still kept my senior thesis from college, although I've not read "The Bacchae" in at least 22 years.

My old aunt in Ohio gave me a handgun, and I nearly forgot I still had it. It's been in a box, on a shelf, undisturbed for over three years. No ammo. When I visit my brother in a few days, I'll ask him to take it and store it in his gun safe (provided there's any room! Haw haw!). I have no need of firearms.

So, so many board game prototypes have been tossed out, their parts combined with others in a grab-bag collection of game pieces and components. Some of the ideas were good. I see that I've learned a lot during my time designing games.

I compared my mementos from when I left my last three jobs: my most recent one, the day program I left in Nashville in 2014, and then the first time I'd left my most-recent non-profit job, in 2012. Lots of photos, letters, cards, and even drawings. One of the day program participants from 2012 made me a charm necklace, which I still had in its envelope.

Sometimes, ridding oneself of physical items has a good feeling going along with it. It's a liberation of sorts. I know that, if it's important enough to me, I'll replace them. But it's the things that don't cost anything - the memories, the esteem, the well-wishing from others, the memories of time well-spent - that seem to not let go, even if I acknowledge they are long, long gone. They're from several lifetimes ago... (I mean, what was I doing in Nashville, anyway?) They're still bricks in my foundation, I suppose.

///

Time was spent today plotting out my route from where I am now, to where I will be in early May. 2,000 miles separate there from here. I've plotted out a rough outline of my route, learing a klodgy mapping program that comes with my GPS. Reviewing the route in a paper road atlas is helpful. I've worked out that I'll have six days on the road, and an extra day of padding at my destination. So even if I'm waylaid somewhere on the lonesome highway for a day, I won't be too late to start.

Then it's a month in a cabin, and then X# of months in a bunk or tent. We'll see what I can rack up in terms of homesteading and gardening experience before my next move.


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