It's been real

You know, I've come to like DC, in a weird kind of way. I like going to things that begin with "National," and the lit-up view of the Capitol from Pennsylvania Avenue. I like the cathedral gardens, and the pizza sandwiches with hot peppers (and a small Oreo shake) from Potbelly. I like snow freak-outs and dogwood blossoms and hanging out with Lincoln whenever I feel like it.

Which, obviously, is why I'm leaving a week from today.

Did I forget to say that earlier?

I've had a good time here--really. When I take stock of the experiences I had and the places I went and the people I met, experiences and places and people that wouldn't have crossed my path if I hadn't come here, I'm grateful. It was hard, too, both confusing and clarifying, but this year has been like nothing else I've ever done--and certainly like no place else I've ever lived--and I wouldn't trade it. I'll even miss it, some.

But there are other things I want to do, professionally, that aren't accessible in DC without, at the very least, a bus ride to New York; to stay wouldn't be a good use of my time. My parents have graciously offered me a crash pad while I take a shot at writing full-time--while I polish and send out my work, take whatever freelance gigs I can get, save up some money, and see what happens. I fully expect a wild-goose chase, but I'm hopeful and in a take-no-prisoners mood. And really, what better time to leave a stable government job than in the worst employment market in eighty years?

In the mean time, I'm a total to-do list hound. I dream about crossing things off of my master pre-move list, and somehow seem to have transcended procrastination for the time being. Mail: forwarded! Return route: decided! Prescriptions: refilled! The car is in the shop today, getting an oil change and a couple of new tires; I'm dying to get it back so I can put the seats down and start loading boxes. Packing up a furnished apartment is bizarre--I'm about two-thirds packed, and everything looks more or less the same, like I'm not leaving at all. Sherlock, of course, is just psyched that I've finally embraced his passion for boxes of clean clothes (little does he know what horror awaits--he's going on the plane with my brother). In any case, by this time next week, everything will be packed, cleaned, locked and left, and I'll be on the road to Charleston (Liz & Al National Tour Stop #1).

Until then, you'll know where to find me: just look for the giant flag of packing tape.