It's 6:26 a.m.
The car is packed.
I should take a picture, it looks so purty.
The house is a disaster.
I should take a picture, it would teach me a lesson.
Everyone is asleep and I am wondering...
Why am I going away?
I could stay home and clean, start over on my doll quilt (which is being difficult.)
I should file, sort, unpack, sanitize, come to terms with the fact that I really do live here.
Sometimes people come in our house and tell me it's 'wonderful' and I wince.
They say it's 'so spacious' and I sigh.
They say it's 'really nice' and I protest.
I tell them, "We're just renting it," deflecting all praise and encouragement, because I feel so
detached and apart from any ownership of this place, but I could say "thank you" and move on.
From experience I know that this trip will be a lot of fun and sometimes nerve wrecking (wracking? Which is it?)
I also know that when I start to feel homesick, like tomorrow morning, I will be missing Geoff.
Geoff and the cats, and the way our bed gets really comfy at 6:35 a.m.
Geoff the cats, our bed, this computer, Playstation 3 and the freedom it buys me from bored children.
When I get home I'll be a new woman, transformed and enlightened, full of fresh insight, inspired by hardship and brimming with new found skills. I will write a novel, paint great art, sew something endearing, capture the essence of life at its utmost, in digital photography. I will be a domestic queen and start up a lucrative enterprise.
It all sounds so wonderful, I can't wait to get started.
Time to rouse the children and hit the road.