Well, the big news is, of course, that I'm moving to Houston. I was offered the job on Wednesday, accepted it on Thursday (was it really that recently?), and I'll be leaving for unfamiliar parts a week from Saturday.
I expected a bigger fanfare from all of this, but instead life has continued at it's normal pace. I called a few friends and let them know the news. I put in two weeks notice at work. I started working out credit card details and cell phone plans. And then life has continued as normal. I go to work every day and take pictures of toddlers. I mow the lawn. I bring back library books and take a few more out. I walk our skittish dog every few hours (a stomach bug has given him the habit of leaving particularly... unsavory deposits in the house, on some of our best carpeting, so it's good to keep him outside as much as possible). And since an equally nasty stomach bug has also given me the habit of depositing equally... well, enough about that. Suffice to say, I've been drinking fluids and trying to sleep it all off. And so my last days around the house are passing in somewhat of a blur.
I guess it'll all be sudden anyway. I'll go into work one day, close down the store, take off my nametag, and never come back. The next morning I'll load up a truck or RV with what hand-me-down furniture my parents have seen fit to pass on to me, hop in the cab, and I'll be gone. I don't know how that'll feel. It'll be the first time that I'll be leaving this house and no longer considering it "home." It's the first time that whatever trip I'm on won't finish up back in this big brown house. Hopefully.
But strangely, it's not rushing towards me at a frantic, unstoppable pace. Nor am I counting down the days until I finally get out of here and out on my own. Instead - it's just coming.
And then it'll be here.
And then I'll be gone.