I've spent the past few days packing my belongings and transferring them into the tight space that is my 2005 Pontiac Sunfire, all in the pursuit of Eastward momentum. Those of you who know me personally are aware that I have moved more than my fair share of times - this will be Move #43, and my second move across the country - and several of you have assisted me in the moving process, at one time or another, whether by helping me to pack my belongings, or by stopping in at the last moment to wish me well on my journey.
Some people pack in specific ways that best suit their sensibilities, but over the years, I have managed to pack in one of two ways:
1.) The Panicked Fleeing of an Imagined Fire
There have been several instances in which I haven't so much packed, as much as thrown everything into the car in as haphazard a manner as possible, without concern for where things end up. This type of packing involves only a handful of boxes, several trash bags, and a mad dash to get the fuck up out of a place I very likely hate.
2.) The Contemplative, Meandering Walk Down Memory Lane
This type of packing involves several days, sometimes weeks, of slowly and thoughtfully packing away my life. Every item is placed carefully into its designated container, and loving packed away with the greatest care possible in order to allow me the time to dwell upon both the good and bad memories associated with each object.
For the record, this is the worst possible way to pack.
It wouldn't be so bad, I don't think, if the process weren't fraught with bitterness, joy, and sorrow in equal measure, and towards the end of the ordeal, even the slightest sentimental recollection can send one into a fit of unannounced and uncontrollable weeping.
There are several reasons why I haven't left for my much beloved East Coast, yet, not the least of which involves the abject fear that, in moving away from Los Angeles, I am leaving behind one of the best chapters in my life.
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(Sorry - that last sentence sent me into a crying jag)
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Part of why I haven't moved, yet, has to do with money - I needed a weekend for the check to clear my account so I could hit the road without fear of ending up broke along the way. In reality, the check cleared on Saturday morning, and I could've left then...
Except for the fact that I hadn't packed a damn thing.
And so, on Saturday, I began the process of packing up my belongings while we watched Fringe on Amazon Instant View. I could've finished the job on Sunday...
Except that I needed to clean out the car.
So, on Sunday night, I emptied out the car, and said to myself, "Well, I need to vacuum it, before I start stuffing shit into it as tightly as I can." And I could've left on Monday, except...
When I woke up on Monday, I called WVU to reschedule my intake appointment for the Positive Living HIV Clinic, only to realize that I needed to make sure that my meds for May were covered, here in California, first, which sent me on an hour-long odyssey of phone calls between Healthy Way L.A. and AHF to try and get that squared away.
And then, Adam came over for dinner and How I Met Your Mother.
And even at the end of the evening, I tried my best to make excuses to try to stay here longer than need be, only to come up empty for a real reason.
So, here it is - Tuesday, April 16th, 2013 - and I'm finally on my way out the door, at some point, this morning. What made it final, for me was when James came in to say goodbye to me in our normal morning fashion, and he lingered just that few second longer than usual
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(Another fit of weeping)
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I went outside to shift boxes around my car to pack my television, and caught him as he rode away on his motorcycle - the same one I helped him walk away from when he crashed in the Angeles National Forest in 2012 - and he gave that two fingered wave goodbye, and away he went...
I tried my best not to linger and allow my sadness to see him go get the best of me, and so I threw myself into the task of loading my television into the backseat...the real moment when you realize that you're truly moving.
From that point forward, little things have triggered my weep-fests, from sorting through sports attire, to searching for my leather vest (which I've yet to find), to sifting through the laundry in the front bedroom, to packing away my myriad surge protectors, to realizing how much I'm going to have to ask James to ship to me (sorry, love).
The thing that keeps going through my head and coming out my mouth as I weep is, "I don't want to leave...I don't want to move..."
Leaving Los Angeles, though it is the personally best thing I could possibly do, feels like my heart is being ripped from my chest and handed to me on a plate. Like an asshole, I've made an imposition upon my former partner, and stayed in his house for well past by welcome. A full year-and-a-half after we separated, I stayed with him, largely because I simply could not afford to get out on my own; and for a year-and-a-half, he tolerated it, even though every cell in his body wanted to chuck me out onto the street.
It took getting fired from my job at Barney's Beanery in Westwood to give me that kick in the ass I needed to make a decision and see it through.
As I begin to wrap up this meandering blog post, I realize that even writing this is a stalling tactic. I still have to shower, take the remaining clothes out of the dryer, and stuff them into the car. There's one more box to pack into the trunk, and my backpack to fill with my most immediately needed belongings, and a thermos to fill with ice and Diet Pepsi for my trip. And I can't forget to take what meds I still have with me, lest my journey be a complete waste of time.
The real reason I don't want to go is that I am filled with anxiety at the thought of driving across the country, again - only, this time, without James to make the journey with me. I'm going alone, and the thought that I am leaving behind the man whom I have loved for nearly four years, and though it's really time for me to go - for us to move on from one another - I want to revel in the comfort of him coming home to watch television, and the two of us being completely indecisive about what to have for dinner and attempting to foist upon the other the decision (I usually end up making it), and the fights, and the laughter, and introducing him to films that were so popular that he has no excuse for having not seen them.
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(Yet another fit of tears)
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I want to cuddle the cat, and say goodbye to the dog, knowing that they are unaware that I'm not coming back, this time. I wonder if they actually know that? The cat will eventually be flown out to WV to meet me at my new home, and though I know I'll see him, again, I just want to hold Gremlin and cry for a few minutes before I go.
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(Again)
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And, here it is. I think the clothing is finally dry, and I am ready to hop in the shower. Before I do, I'll throw whatever I can still fit into the last container, and shove it into the trunk, make sure the trunk lid can close, and force myself into the shower. I hate this part.
But, it's the right thing to do.
I love you, my dear.
ReplyDelete--Audrey