A friend of mine was saying a few days ago how big a move I was about to undertake, and I scoffed that it was all relatively easy. But as time passes and I get closer to flying, the reality and gravity of the situation is dawning.
Right now I am waiting for my boxes to be collected for shipping. Having fussed over them for the last month, I finally have put the last piece of packing tape on box 1 of 4, 2 of 4, 3 of 4 and 4 of 4 - my life possessions summarised numerically, like some kind of bar coding system - as if the memories and cherished possessions packed in those four small packages could be summarised.
And why couldn't I NAME them? Why did I have to number them? Well, what difference - I have named them anyways! John, Paul, George and Ringo (Ringo is the small box) are lined up patiently waiting at the front door - ready for their 2 month traverse to the Southern Hemisphere.
And suddenly I know I am moving. That all plans I am making for "next week" are being made in a new country, in a foreign land.
Reality is beginning to bite...
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