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Friday, August 18, 2000

This is a bad time for me to be running out of energy. I don't have any area-specific aches or pains (let's not go there again), but it was a struggle just getting through the day without collapsing on the couch.

The Boss is out of town, so that helps. It helped that there were no emergencies that had to be dealt with, because he didn't have a fax set up at his daughter's house in San Diego. It helped me to stay in bed late this morning, even if that got my work and my packing even further behind.

I'm overwhelmed by the amount of work I have to do in the next two weeks. And then I get to unpack, set up the office again, and settle into my new life. What can I say? A month down the road, barring any new crises, this will all be behind me.

I'm eternally grateful to the kind people who have written words of encouragement. I've been reminded of something that I knew, deep down, but sort of let slip away in the mass confusion: I'm one lucky son of a gun. I'm moving on to a better place, and I have the love and support of family and friends, online and off.

The next few days hold some special future memories (and journal entries). Eric and I are taking the bus to Pacific Bell Park Sunday, to see the Giants play the Braves. This probably couldn't have come at a better time. Since I'm sort of paralyzed by this obsession with details, a little break might be useful.

Then Monday, my new class starts at the JC. "Designing Graphics for the Web." I expect that I'll learn some techniques that I can use to improve the overall look of the website, but I have so little natural design skill that you probably won't even notice. Still, out of the house on eight Monday nights between now and the middle of October. Couldn't hurt.

Today is one of those days that I consider it a victory to get through. All I felt like doing was covering myself with a blanket and huddling in a dark corner somewhere, and yet I managed to get the check run done (the one I usually do on Thursdays, but what's one day?), reconcile the bank statement (destroying the illusion that there's anything in the account), and put a dent in the filing (which is different from putting a dent in the filing cabinet).

How do you clean, when the day you'll be moving out is the same day the landlord is telling prospective tenants they can move in? This has been on my mind, although how it finds room in there with all the other garbage I don't know. Nothing could stand a thorough scrubbing and a trip to the dumps more than the cluttered warehouse between my ears.

That Friday won't be hectic enough, right? I have to get up extra early and be ready for Landlord Jerry to show up by seven. I'll have to help him move everything that I want to supervise personally. The more I think about that, the more stuff falls into that category.

I could easily see myself spending the whole day fussing over furniture, equipment, paintings — anything that isn't packed in a box. I'm not sure I'm ready for anyone else to be handling every single thing I own, without me there to oversee it.

Then, when I'm done here, the plan is for me to drive to Shasta for the rest of the weekend. If I wait until too late in the afternoon, I won't start until Saturday morning. If something goes wrong, it's even possible I won't make it out of Santa Rosa at all. I'm not saying that's going to happen, but I spent two weeks last month trying to get out of town, and I never made it.

When the details of moving get to me, I remind myself that everything's going to work out, and I'll be better off once it's done. And if I forget, I have a lot of people to help me remember.

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