Countdown to the Beginning

8/2/2002

Thursday night Aral, Tasha, and West-Coast-Sara and I hung out on the roof, drinking Canadian beers and getting silly. It was quite nice. The lights from the downtown Boston skyline are quite visible from my house, and we've got Packard's Corner to look down on, to count T trains from, to people watch in. The heat's back up here in Boston, and poor Sara couldn't understand how air here on the east coast is filled with still water, the nice muggy feeling that I find ever so pleasant. The thicker the air, the more I'm reminded of playing with my cousins as a kid. The thicker the air, the more Aral wants to scream. She's from the west coast too, and global warming is killing her.

Last weekend I hung out with Josh some, talking about stickers and homemade T-shirts with political slogans on them and Thai food and artificial sweeteners and desserts. We talked about Atlanta and cultural spaces and he watched as Aral haggled me up on the price of the futon I'm selling her.

I love it here, but it's time to go. Every day I spend packing I whine and drag my feet a little, because packing is such a hateful chore. But I know it's not just the packing that's making me feel this way. I'm sad about leaving Allston, even though I know leaving is the right thing to do. I've never had it so good as I have it here.

I've got an interview with the Georgia state archives, a guaranteed gig with the Fulton county school board system and a consulting job.

In one week, I'll be in Atlanta for good. I'm packing the moving truck late Tuesday, driving down I-95 Wednesday and Thursday evening arriving on the steps of my aunt and uncle's on the 285 loop. I'll be driving for two days with Mr. Puck in a carrier next to me, as we wind all the way down the eastern seaboard to get back to where I always knew we belonged. It's nice.

My youngest sister, Abby, is there waiting for me in Atlanta, and on Saturday my other sister, Sara, will come hang out for the weekend before they both head back to Nashville to start their school year. The summer is just about over. Summer ends when the kids go back to school, and I go back to work.

This.

This is.

This is the end.

This is the end of Summer, the end of e-in-boston, the beginning of a sea change. Because nothing is constant but change. The only thing that matters is who's holding your hand as you watch the world shift around you.