Been a while

The next time you see me the worry lines will be few, diminished by a string of long, restful nights. No more boxes half-packed waiting to be filled. The dishes gone with all of the furniture and excess shoes, and empty fridge to boot. The biggest day is only six away when the men come to load what is left onto the truck and stow it into a room -- our lives in sixty square feet. The next day and on a plane we go to the other side of the country. Family waits, and others. A new dog to meet. In among the clutter, a little glimpse comes through to the other side of the week. Then off into the summer and beyond.


Exhaustion could kill a man -- my dad says stress does, and too many women. This is not exhaustion, just fatigue and anxiety. Or anxiousness, rather, if it is indeed a word. It is long past time to go, but first there is waiting, an old friend. This waiting sinks in vicious hooks of nothingness as the rooms empty and the comfort disappears. The only cushion near is the bed, but spending the day there makes me feel ill. So then a long sit on the hard, wooden floor among the bags of freebies and boxes of keepers, my shoes, a power cord, and a lonely penny fallen from a basket of change. Let it be over and soon.


No more trips up and down the four flights of stairs. No more e-mails about pick-ups and discards and how tall things are exactly. No more blaring Reggaeton. No more spitting grandmas. No more Castro wandering the halls with a wafting trail of liquor. No more six-dollar peanut butter from Gristedes. No more honking gypsy cabs cruising for fares. No more hissing toilet. No more no mores.


We cannot move any more quickly than we are. Wait and wait and wait a little bit more. Try to sleep. Look ahead to the day when all is stowed and those few remaining needs are in a bag strapped to my back. The next time you see me I may need a nap, but the worry will go with it.