it’s after midnight. i’m sitting on the couch next to a tower of cardboard, sweaty, covered in newsprint, and not smelling all that pleasant. yet, i am oddly satisfied. i think tonight i reached the point where i am sure that i will finish packing and the move will go relatively smooth. the kitchen is almost entirely cleaned out, save for the cupboards containing foodstuffs. my bedroom is empty but for the bed, a pile of dirty clothes, a nighttable, a reading lamp and a book. there are two closet shelves that need to be dealt with — one contains blankets so that will be easy.

my god, i’m almost out of this little hellhole i’ve called home for the past five years and 11 months.

tomorrow will be the great hauling of garbage. there’s not quite as much of it as i had anticipated. i thought i would throw out a lot more. this means that either, i don’t keep as much shit as i think or that i’m a pack rat in total denial.

saturday is the beginning of the great cleanup, and then a westernerd get together out in SLP.

sunday the sister club invades to haul the ‘light’ stuff and that stuff which may be breakable.

monday clean, clean, clean and then clean a little more. i will probably at some point sit in the middle of the floor and cry. it’s happened with most every move i’ve ever made. it is inevitable.

tuesday is moving day, i think the movers are slated to be here between 8:30 and 9 a.m. and then that’s it. i pack up the cats, turn out the lights, and begin the terrible, awful, sure to be documented with copious complaints task of unpacking.

holy shit. the end is really near.