The 11th Hour

Since Michaela arrived on Sunday, I've been consistently saying to her "christ, I can't believe you're here..." It didn't seem to be phasing her as much as me. This evening, we were out running some errands. We got home, she sat down on the couch, looked at me and said, "holy sh*t, we're leaving tomorrow!" Clearly it has hit home with her, too.

It has been quite a day. The last remnants of my crap have been thrown into boxes, the refrigerator has been emptied and cleaned, clothes thrown into bins and suitcases, things mailed, provisions acquired... it is here... staring me in the face. Tonight both Steve and Phyllis were home. They gave me (and Michaela) what Steve referred to as "my last supper." For those who may not be aware, my living situation in NYC has been one of a kind. I don't so much rent this apartment as I've been adopted into the family that owns it. For four years they have fed me, laughed with me, supported me, and given me a tremendous space to call home. I'm not so much a moving tenant as I am saying goodbye to a part of my extended family. This difficult farewell extends to those friends who have become a staple of my life here in NYC - you know who you are. You make this move bittersweet, and for that I am grateful.

Now here I sit, 2:45am, wide awake, watching the minutes tick by until we greet the dawn and await the arrival of the movers. My next post will be from the road. Ready or not, here we come.