Truckin'

On Friday, September 9, I go to settlement on the house. That means that Saturday, September 10 is moving day. God forgive me, but it may spill over into Sunday as well.

I've got the truck lined up for the weekend. Sal will be on hand, but we're both hoping for an extra set of hands that day. Maybe my son can be persuaded, especially since he may be moving in as well shortly thereafter. Making all these arrangements, of course, has seriously impaired the profound words of wisdom I was preparing for dissemination here. I simply can't be on the phone or packing bags AND writing at the same time.

There is also an unfortunate side effect to all this. I have an anxiety disorder, and while I'm being treated for it, waking up suddenly at two or three in the morning is not unusual, especially at times when there's a lot going on. Sometimes I use the unexpected rush to start the day early. I'll give up on going back to sleep, maybe watch reruns of The X-Files for a hour or two, then go to IHOP to greet the dawn with a big-@$$ breakfast. Then again, I have been known to go for several days, living on adrenaline alone. I'll eat very little, wake up before the chickens every day, and do just fine -- up to a point.

I mean, really, I should be getting too old for this.

I remember back in April of 1991, while the divorce settlement was in progress, and we had to sell the house. The settlement was in the morning, and that afternoon we went to the house for one last time. Walking through the same door as I always had, it suddenly felt different, as if I no longer belonged where I had lived for nearly eight years. There is something about owning one's own home, that gives a man the keys to his own destiny. When you are renting, no matter how long you are there, you are never really home. Someone else can come into your house, tell you to do this or that, and tell you when you have to leave. But owning a home is different. The mortgage company doesn't tell you how many nails you're allowed to use on the walls, or whether you can throw a party, and they don't raise the monthly payment if you get a roommate. They only step in if you fail to pay them. That can be a lot in itself for some of us, but at least you know where you stand.

I have lived in a basement studio apartment for eleven years, the longest I've lived anywhere since moving to this area in 1980. My last day of access to the place will be the 15th. I wonder how it will feel on that day.

Whatever the case, I have waited a long time for moving on to the next chapter, to be located at 1400 South Barton Street, Unit 405, in south Arlington. (Be sure and check out the "virtual photo tour.") It is a one-bedroom-with-den townhouse, in a modest but picturesque neighborhood.

I can hardly wait.