I've been alternately reading stories and packing. I haven't done any of my other work -- can't seem to focus. Packing is very peaceful and contemplative; I'm actually really enjoying the process of winnowing down all the things I don't really want or need. Items picked up for a temporary practical need, but with no real beauty. Just so much stuff, y'know? I have too much stuff.
When I get to Kevin's, I suspect a fair bit of what I've kept will be put in storage; his place isn't that big. We'll go through and see which of our stuff we want out, and which can go away for a while. I only use my sewing machine once or twice a year, for example -- though I'm really glad to have it when I need it. That kind of thing. It's odd to think about -- what suits my life alone, what will suit our lives together...
It was six years ago that we last really lived together. I'm such a different person now -- more patient in some ways, much less patient in others. More solitary sometimes, and more social at other times. Cleaner in general habit. Less compulsive about neatness. Just odd little things that have changed. Probably some big ones too, but those aren't as obvious to me. I wonder if they'll be obvious to him.
There's a poem I wrote back in '98, called "Fringes". It was mostly about me and David and me and Kevin back then. But now, mostly just about Kevin and me, it's just as appropriate. Sometimes I wonder how I keep ending up out here, on the edges of normal life. But then I usually remember that I never really wanted to be normal...and that there's really no such thing as normal anyway.