The boxes that stressed me out so badly are gone. £300 or so and they're on a truck headed to a shipping container headed to a ship, headed to Los Angeles and then in some way from thence to Menlo Park. I might see them a month after I return, or I might be lucky to see them before Christmas.
The apartment feels like a husk. Worse than a hotel room which retains its impersonalness throughout a stay; this was once home and is no more. In some ways it's worse than moving, because I haven't seen the "next home" in so long that I've had none of the visceral, animal comfort of knowing somewhere is next. Now all I have are two giant suitcases, a really large laptop bag, and a reasonable-sized backpack. All STUFFED with things.
And a luggage scale, I should mention. It seemed as I was packing and weighing and repacking and weighing and putting things into the boxes instead, that I couldn't get even just the things I came here with into the bag and be underweight. Humidity? I guess? I sure won't miss the cold drizzling rain.
Then again, I'm hoping the rain starts up as soon as I get home, to be honest. I've been watching the onslaught of burning in California from afar, watching the Valley Fire creep closer and closer to my old summer camp, watching it spread near friends in Fresno, watching it creep up the ridgeline near my Grandma's house in Twain Harte, and hoping that it stops soon. Seriously, the burnt part of California must be larger than the unburnt part at this point, and with an El Niño coming (oh god I hope it is) we're in for some big, ugly mudslides.
I hope it gets cold, and I hope it rains (or better yet SNOWS) like crazy. But... I could use a few days of summer before it starts up, if that's okay? :\
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