Five days left.
Plans are made. I know what I’m doing each day. I have things to accomplish, even if it’s just caulking nail holes and packing up final boxes.
My nerves are shot with waiting. I can’t eat, I can’t concentrate, I can’t paint, I can’t write. Books aren’t holding me for more than a chapter. I’m pretty much down to walking aimlessly, bitching at my long-suffering friends, and sleep.
And video pinball. If you’d told me once that video pinball might be tethering me to sanity, I’d have…believed you, actually, no question.
It’s the stress of waiting that’s killing me. Once I’m on the road, I’ll be sane again. My life has been in a holding pattern for a minor eternity, and I am sick with it, but once I’m on the road, that’ll be over. There’ll probably be a few crashing oh-my-god-what-the-hell moments once I hit California, but they’ll fade off, and I’ll finally be able to get my damn shoulder to the wheel one more time.
The charge is easy. It’s waiting for the order to charge that ages you before your time.
The hours can’t burn fast enough.