Friday was Moving Day. After sleeping (sort of) on the floor in my echoing apartment, I got up at 5:30 to finish loading the car. Maisie, usually the one who rousts me out of bed, was having none of it. Everything fit (just) until I discovered three more plants out on the balcony that I’d missed in the dark the night before. Further rearranging was in order. At last, we were off: the dog on her bed amidst a forest of houseplants, the bin of composting worms balanced on top of various other items I couldn’t bring myself to entrust to the truck, two bikes strapped to the back, and me. Over 750 miles, from Virginia through Maryland, Pennsylvania, Ohio, and Michigan, and all in one day – hooray!
It clearly hadn’t sunk in that this was a one-way trip, though – I kept having to remind myself that I didn't have to do it all again in reverse in a week or two. I’d find myself thinking, ‘Oh, I’ll listen to that CD on the way back,’ and then recalling, ‘Nope, there isn’t any way back.’ Wow, that sounds definitive. There isn't any way back! I’ve buttered my bread, and now I’ll have to lie in it, to quote a book character I once knew with a penchant for mixed cliches.
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