My cat alarm went off at four thirty five am and now I am here, awake a little past 5 and I have two more boxes to pack, then I am done. All of the clothes I will wear for the next three weeks are neatly folded on top of my dresser, and I will somehow fit them, the coffee maker, a blow up mattress, some blankets, pillows, a cat and the rest of the stuff I need to live into my car as I have just finished putting the final load of clothes in the washer.
I leave in a week, and I had to get all of this done before the last few days because I don’t want to be packing shit into cardboard boxes anymore. It’s quite boring, and sometimes amounts to nothing good as the three dry cleaned shirts I just got back from the cleaners will ultimately have to be dry cleaned again at some point in February when I open the box I just sealed.
In the past two weeks I have been trying to work, pack, blog, and say goodbye to friends all at the same time, and even though I have been nominated for the Versatile blogger, and the Liebster award by my fellow WordPressers, I thank them so much for thinking of me, but I beg their forgiveness for not being able to complete the steps necessary to pass it on to someone else just yet (Thank you Inny and Mescalime I promise to get on it soon.)
It’s just that my life is in upheaval. In a good way, I hope.
Things are scattered throughout the apartment. I’ve lost my gorilla tape and my scissors at least four times in the last three days, and I spent last night hobbling around my place wondering why I’ve been breaking down so quickly these last two weeks and does it have anything to do with that methane gas leak in Porter Ranch?
Perhaps that 7 hours of sleep I got when I took a xanax last night at 7:30pm during the Democratic Debates will help. Rocco certainly isn’t helping today, he’s just trying to dump his poo box I just cleaned onto the floor, and eating an old extension cord in the living room and if it looks like I took that picture at night, you are almost correct since I shot it about 10 minutes past 5 in the morning before the sun came up.
This will be the last blog in this series and I guess by writing about all of the shit I have to pack up I am in some way coming to terms with the fact that I won’t be living here anymore. There is a element of sadness to it all, I totally will admit to that. However, there is an element of surprise at what COULD happen and I guess that has been the driving force behind all of this. My cat doesn’t like when she looks into the closet and doesn’t see anything she recognizes. I try to tell her that it’s going to be alright, but her and the rabbit just stare at me from less than a foot off the ground wondering why I am doing what I am doing.
(what the fuck?)
Because I deserve a better quality of life, and what I’ve figured out over the last few years is that I’m not going to find that in Los Angeles.
Sure, I love knowing where everything is, and I love my friends that I have been hanging out with for years and I wish them all the best in every endeavor they take on, much like they wish me the best in this one I am currently in, but it’s time for me to move on.
I know all I’m packing is just stuff, but it’s stuff that I am attached to that carries with it these memories I made and I will take them with me to the next place I live where I hope to create more. I’m going to miss having the option to choose which of my 56 tee shirts I should wear, but I think the four I picked out for the next two weeks will do the trick for awhile.
So when it comes down to it, how many cardboard boxes did it take to pack up almost 13 years of memories from a place where I sometimes felt like the king of Hollywood, even though in the end I have accepted the fact that I am the court jester. That’s not a bad thing at all, because everyone tries to dethrone the King, while the Court Jester looks on from afar making people laugh. I think I can live with that.
Final box count: 20 (18 pictured, 2 not pictured)