For those of you, which I doubt there are many, who are reading these entries, you know my scenario and background.
This weekend has been rough. With some very amazing help I managed to get my entire bedroom (desk, bed, dresser, night stand, table), my couch, my dinning room table with six chairs and a few book cases into the POD that I rented. By myself I’ve been packing up dishes and glasses and moving them into the POD, too.
I keep getting excited about the new adventures that are in front of me: new place to live, new start, new me – but, I can’t help but look back at this empty shell that I have called a home for almost four years and feel a sudden rush of panic flood over me. I love this house! I love the way everything was set up. I love the way everything feels inside it – I spent a long time making this house my home! I’m really sad that I’m leaving it.
Right now I’m laying in my fireplace room on the only piece of furniture left in the house that can function as a bed. I’m hot, I’m tired and I’m feelin’ kind of home sick and I’ve not even left yet.