The last few weeks has been a continuous mind trick. It feels like exhaustion, but I get home in the evenings and find familiarity missing. Objects of my house seem to keep slipping away, as if they were never there. That picture frame to the left of the front door, a couple of the footstools in the living room, a tower of sports magazines dating back to 2002 in the bathroom, and some Roswell-esque alien kitchen appliances; day by day, one or two seems to slip away with the same quiet lack of fanfare that memories fade from our mind. It isn’t a deletion or a removal, it is further. It is like these things never even existed. One by one they are gone.
As the clutter and character of this house saunters off, so does the reality of what is occurring fill my conscience. We are leaving.
Us humans get attached to some strange things. As a kid, I always got really attached to brands. Brands to products that I didn’t even use. I was the biggest 6 year old Visa fanboy you’d ever meet. A thin white sheet with scribbling all over it could carry the sentimental weight of an anvil, depending on what that scribbling is saying. We aren’t nomads, well, most of us aren’t. Even when I haven’t live here, this house has been my home for almost 20 years now, or nearly my entire life at this point. In exactly one week, I’m doing something I’ve been trying to do in every last bit of earnestness I have; leave.
For the last couple years I’ve been paddling and flailing and tugging against a tide that kept me stuck in place. I was a modern day Wile E. Coyote, designing all sorts of machinations and schemes to get out, from catapaulting myself head first across the country, to digging underground all the way to Albuquerque (Nashville), and so on. The gravity of this house was always too much for me to get out into orbit, and now, it could be better said that the house, and all that comes with it is leaving me.
As of today, more things have slipped today just from going to the gym and back. I can now look around and see an almost naked home; don’t tell the FCC. Today I’ll start to pack and remove my room, but I don’t think I’ll process any of this until next Saturday when I’m leaving. I don’t even know where I’m going to, yet. Or maybe it will just kind of slip away like a stationary object in the rearview mirror, until all of the memories sucker punch me down the road, and by then I’ll be overcome with emotion.