It seems that everything I do these days is something I will be doing for the last time. Yesterday was my last Monday at work. This is my last Tuesday at the track. Tomorrow will be my last day off. Well, last day off with pay, that is. Friday I will hit the Mohawk Inn after work for the final time. You get the picture.
And next week the parade of ‘lasts’ will continue when I have lunch with my sister for the final time. I mentioned this to a friend earlier today and he seemed genuinely alarmed. Perhaps I should say “last lunch for two years”, he suggested, lest anyone jump to the conclusion that I’m about to end it. Trust me, there’s no need to be alarmed.
Last Sunday my friend Molly picked up my fridge, vacuum, printer and scanner. Next Sunday my nephew Jason comes for the stove and a co-worker will take the Ikea closet system. By Sunday evening I should be down to an ottoman, duvet, 2 pillows, and what’s coming with me. In 14 days I will dispose of the bedding and will be homeless and living out of a backpack. Multi-year world travel doesn’t seem so glamorous now, does it?