and for my final trick...

I'm in my old room.

There wasn't much floor space in the room I usually sleep in, and the bed is already stacked with boxes (sheets and bedspread neatly packed in my car, too).

Sleeping on a couch downstairs was an option, but it seems more fitting to spend this last night in the room that was my home through my childhood.

I've done this before, contemplating the familiar geometry while the purpose and look of the room have changed many times over.

Today had some rough spots, but I don't want to remember those. No doubt my brain's etched more strongly with them than with the good moments, but I shall give it no encouragement.

The best moments were the dreaded goodbyes, first to Carol, then to my mom. I don't like to believe that things are really changing, that I won't see them on a regular basis anymore.

Carol really is my best friend. It's so hard to say why without sounding clinical. We, along with her boyfriend, went to California Pizza Kitchen where we have shared many a meal (and few a sangria), and spit the usual waldorf chicken salad, plus a pizza and these wonderful sonora egg rolls (I've gotta learn how to make those). Afterward we went to the Cheesecake Factory for dessert and hot drinks, and made sure to have Brian take a few photos of us. It took several tries to get it right, but I'm glad we did.

I tried not to say goodbye to my mom. Not that I avoided her, or avoided talking about leaving. I just tried not to make it feel final in any way. Sure, I want to be moving out for the final time, but, in terms of the relationship I have with her, I don't want moving out to be indicative of any kind of ending.

Earlier today, while I was creeping through the 80s (in terms of percent-ready-to-go), I asked Mom for some help packing kitchen things into my car. I showed her the space available in my car, and the items I'd pulled out of boxes. She helped me consolidate pots, pans, bowls, spices, utensils, glasses and my tea kettle into perfectly packed parcels.

Another time I thought of my mom today was on the drive to dinner. Within close proximity to each other, I saw license plates that said "8B48488" (and got to teach Brian that trucks have different kinds of plates than cars) and "B R A S". Talking license plates with Mom is always good times.

But the award for best times today go to Reagan. He calmed me down when I was slipping over the edge of meltdown tantrum, without making me feel like I was being completely irrational. Phone calls between us are rare, but a nice treat. Later in the day he was simply online to chat back at me when I was between heavy trips with boxes. One exchange went something like...
"Should I bring a space heater?"
"Yeah, it's getting pretty cold (for us)"
"Well, space heater or rice cooker? I only have room for one"
"RICE COOKER!!!"

I loves him so much. Can't wait to see him again. Something else Reagan-related that made me grin: Since much of our communication happens over text message, when he's going to the chow hall or out with friends, he says "I'm keeping you in my pocket". Normally on weekdays he's not allowed to have his phone with him (or really anything in his pockets), but I asked if he would make an exception tomorrow, so I can contact him from the road if need be. Reagan agreed to bend the rules for my peace of mind, saying that no one was going to search him, and they're eager to get him processed out of the detachment anyways.

While his integrity is something I admire about my husband, it makes me feel very loved that he'd occasionally pick keeping me happy over strict adherence to the rules.

Now I should seek out sleep because large unknowns and adventures await me at (after) sunrise. I take my final rest of life in Upland in my cross-country-travels sleeping bag, on top of the mattress Reagan and I shared in Savannah, in my childhood room.

:)