21 days.

Ready or not, three weeks from today I get on a plane. I am living by lists. Lists of people to see. Lists of business things that need to be done. Lists of orders to pack and ship. Lists of paperwork. Lists of packing. List, list, O list! My apartment is maybe 80% packed, and I’m hoping to finish that job by Wednesday.

I’m exhausted, and happy, and trying hard to hang onto my last few days in this city: to live them and remember them, instead of living ahead of myself for this last stretch. Work is bittersweet right now as I’m realizing how many students and colleagues I’ll miss. I wish I could keep a wormhole open to check in on my favorite kids over the next few years. I’ll hear news of them, I’m sure, but it’s not the same as watching them grow up and become amazing people, month by month.

Now that the beads are almost all packed, I of course have about one million ideas and projects I’d like to be doing. I’ve kept some things out because I’m relaxed and happy when I’m working, and I need that, but they will have to get wrapped and put away in the next few days. I’m not sure what that will be like. Except for times when I’ve been traveling, I haven’t been out of arm’s reach of a pair of pliers for almost six years, and I’m about to go into a month-long stretch of no-making.

For now, I’m still clinging to Sundays as a day of no lists and no appointments, but I think tomorrow will be the last of those. I’m going to try to make the most of it. Sleep in, go to the gym, do only things I enjoy for the rest of the day. The lists will whisper and hiss at me, but they can wait until Monday.

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