I need to pack at some point in the near future. With this self-acknowledgement, I've noticed that I have become one of "those" who still have unopened boxes from the last move. Some are this way because I have been in a smaller space and I have too many kitchen items. One box is still taped because I haven't had the heart to face the memories. Maybe I'll visit it the move after this one.
Maybe.
In the winding down period before the winding up, I feel the chaos and this Al Kennedy piece felt at times as though he stepped inside my own head to find his words. In "The Chaos of Writing: Still hitting the keyboard after all these years," he notes, "Almost half my life has passed before my eyes. It was dusty. And creased." He's moving as well and has had to deal with the emotional side of packing that creeps in beside the practical. You're in the midst of a box, and stop short to look at a photo, listen to a CD, pause to remember, sometimes to cry. What to keep? What to rid? How in the world did I end up with so many [insert slightly embarrassing admission here]? Endings and beginnings swirled up in cardboard and whatever adhesive you happen to find. Holding it together is always the hardest part.
Kennedy says, "Onwards". Come what may, always, ever, and back again.
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