The army of packers has left a sea of boxes in their wake. As we sat down for the last of the frozen dinners, we realized how truly thorough they were: even the plastic forks has been packed. While it may often appear to be finger food, ravioli in tomato sauce is, I assure you, not.

The only things left in the fridge are beer, cheese, pudding, and 47 different condiments. If I were still in college, I could make that work.

Tomorrow a new army, the loaders, arrive and I already feel sorry for them. We’re told that we will fill the largest truck they have. I’m not so much amazed by this as how we fit all this into the new house. Two words: giant basement.

Even the smallest things are starting to have a postcard look to them, as if everything I see is like something pulled from an old shoe box. I’m oscillating between this place being my present and my past and I’m really ready to go, if for nothing else just to stop the sensation of being Not Quite Here.

Tonight is the last night we sleep in our house. Until next week.