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I don’t want to pack my office.
There’s a feeling of finality in the air, as though maybe this really is the last time we’ll be here. Maybe forever. And I can’t come to terms with how I feel about that.
I can’t tell if I’m depressed, lazy, or just being stubborn. Maybe it’s some combination of all three.
I have entered this room more times than I can count in the past two weeks with the intention of starting this hated task. I have a U-Haul book box all taped up and ready to go with absolutely nothing in it.
But those are my books on the shelf. They make me feel at home. If I pack those now this place will feel empty.
I’m sitting at my computer. It’s where I write. It’s where I make videos. It’s where I do everything. I can’t pack that yet! I have a laptop, sure, but I never use it. I want my two 34” screens at eye-level and my clicky full-size keyboard and my wireless mouse.
I guess I could take down my Hokusai print of The Great Wave. But that ugly green wall sure would look bare.
