I'm flying solo tonight...no man, no dog. They are working on the ceiling project at the lake, while I stayed behind to pack. I enjoy my alone time. Time to decompress, be with myself--and yes, you can "be" with yourself (get your mind outta the gutter)--watch what I want, eat what I want, whatever my heart desires. I like hanging out with myself. It's called space and it's healthy. In fact, I think I prefer it. Tonight, however, I'm feeling a little different. Packing. I hate it. Not the physical act of it, but the idea of putting all the things I have carefully and painstakingly selected to surround myself with over the years that represent my family, my friends, my life...in a box. A dark cold lonely place for who knows how long this time around. Ever since the first time I moved, and maybe because of the first time I moved, I have disliked this process, no matter how much promise the next residence or city offers. I was 7 or 8 and I was leaving my fami
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