The laundry is done.
The list of items that must be not left behind is made.
We have a plan of driving and where to stay.
Tomorrow I make phone calls.
Lists exist and are relevant.
My nerves are not buying it. This is not the normal move. There is usually this zen that follows the zany of finding a place to live and budgeting and finding a new job and meeting new people -
wait, what?
I don't have time to think about meeting new people, I've got way many other things to worry about!
And yet.
My zen tells me that it's on vacation and I need to find some other coping mechanism. Most of my best friends are also moving or going through massive life shifts. The cats do not let me too far out of sight most of the day. I keep reorganizing things and packing things and we are not in a place that has all of my/their/our stuff.
I keep channeling thoughts of my friend who is so excited about working with other scientists that she joyfully introduces herself at conferences and writes emails with enthusiasm and I believe I'm going to try it. I may not get any jobs out of it, but I may very well meet some people who are doing things that I want to be a part of.
My parents are off on a drive in their new town that has welcomed them gently and with ice cream.
It is time for a shower and then some more tea and then I will write.
My best to all.
Carravaggio, The Calling of St. Matthew
1599-1600; Oil on canvas, 10' 7 1/2" X 11' 2"; Contarelli Chapel, Church of San Luigi dei Francesi, Rome
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