In four hours and thirty-two -- make that thirty-one -- minutes, my alarm will go off. I will roll out of bed, shower, pack my deodorant and my hairbrush, and double check that I have my passport.
(Five days ago, I lay on a massage table at Two Birds Tattoo and listened with half an ear to my friends chatter hilariously about everything and nothing, and had a beautiful flying little owl [athene noctua] tattooed on the inside of my right wrist. It's in the scabby and gross phase right now, but I love every inch of it and what it means to me, and when I look down at my wrist I feel no surprise to see it there. The pain of the tattoo burned in a dull, fierce way, but I almost welcomed it. It made it feel permanent.)
In what is now four hours and fifty minutes, at 6:30 a.m. PST, I will Skype with my parents in Ohio for what will be the last time for many days. We will talk about my flight, and my cat, and my car (now on Bainbridge, waiting for my father to pick it up), and my stress levels (high).
(Four days ago, I saw my friends in a whirlwind tour of the city. It was a beautiful day, full of Italian food and doughnuts and my dear friend's baby Una, and a housewarming party/barbecue/game night complete with red cupcakes supplied by Anthro!Girl and her husband Captain Amazing. It was almost too much.)
In what will now be five hours and ten minutes, at 7:15 a.m. PST, the Roommate will wake up and help me French braid my hair. We will say goodbye. One of us will probably say something ridiculous, and we will laugh hysterically.
(Three days ago, the movers came and packed up my life. It's a fact little acknowledged by the not-currently-moving that moving involves approximately two million little crises that pop up. My biggest one so far was thinking that the movers would not be able to come at all, and all my things would remain stranded in Seattle. Fortunately, that was not the case, and on Friday morning they whisked all my belongings into thirteen boxes. Thirteen measly little boxes, to hold a life.)
In what will now be six hours and thirty-one minutes, at 8:00 a.m. PST, Shari will come to get me to bring me to the airport. We'll struggle to fit my giant bags in her Honda Civic, and we will be successful. We'll go to IHOP for breakfast and coffee, and I'll probably eat some chocolate chip pancakes. We'll process her recent trip, and my past week, and we'll try to pretend that this is normal, that I'm not leaving in a matter of hours.
(Two days ago, I was at the Beveridge Place Pub in West Seattle as the Catfarmer decorated the place with fruit and flowers, the Roommate brought in trays of Ezell's fried chicken, and Anthro!Girl sailed in with some pies from Shoofly. I was nervous because a lot of the people who were coming to this party were from different parts of my life, but as it turns out, my friends are pretty amazing. Through shuffleboard and foosball and arts and crafts, nothing felt awkward -- but maybe that's just the a testament to the amazing power of fried chicken.)
In what is now nine hours and twenty five minutes, at 11:00 a.m. PST, I will be checking into my flight to Beijing. I will be nervous when they weigh my checked bags, hoping that the measurements I've made at home (66 pounds for one roller bag, 67 for the other) hold true so that I don't have to get rid of anything or pay $330. I will not stop to breathe and relax until I get to my gate and I know that I haven't missed my flight.
(Yesterday, I took four 42 gallon trash bags of my things to Goodwill. I threw out four more. Kyanne perched on my bed and watched me like a hawk, helping me to throw out things I didn't want to. My blender goes to the Catfarmer, my mirror goes to Kyanne, my tool box goes to the Roommate. Nothing will go in storage. Anthro!Girl made us risotto for dinner. The Grebster met us for drinks. I began to start saying goodbyes, and I continued to begin to cry.)
In what will now be twelve hours and twenty minutes, at 2:00 p.m. PST, my flight will take off for Beijing. I will be reading one of the five books I've stashed in my backpack for the long plane ride. Also keeping me company will be a stuffed penguin, the arts and crafts projects from my going away party and the blank book one of my students gave me, now filled to bursting with cards and good wishes. I will try to make a small Mandarin phrasebook for myself. I will be sitting still for the first time in days.
(Today, I sped all around the city like a madwoman, switching my phone service, cancelling my gym membership, giving my car away, and dragging the Roommate along for the whole thing. As I drove, she industriously cleaned my car with Lysol wipes, and at the end of the day, we met up with the Catfarmer and the Moorish Warrior, and we ate a glorious sushi meal. The Moorish Warrior and I toasted each other with uni, and the Catfarmer and I fell into a sushi coma, and all of a sudden everything began to feel very, very real. Tonight I put all my CDs on my computer and the Roommate and I swapped stories and now I don't want to fall asleep because when I wake up, I'll have to go. When I wake up -- in what will now be exactly four hours -- I will actually have to leave, and while I do want to go, I don't want to leave. So here I am writing this blog post, because I'm trying to remember exactly how I've felt this past week, and what I've done, and silly things like what my friends' faces look like and what it sounds like when they laugh.)
In what will now be twenty-four hours and sixteen minutes, at 5:05 p.m. Beijing time, I will land in China. I will be met at the airport. I will go to my new apartment. And the next part of my life will begin.
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