It’s now two days to closing. My bookshelves are flat, leaning against a wall. The books that once sat on them have been in boxes for a month. My chairs are stacked neatly against a wall. The dining room table is flat. My futon has been deconstructed into flat chunks.

Screens that hide my winter tires from view are sitting along a wall, disused. I’ve reached the point in the process where I am no longer packing up the things “I won’t need for a while”. I’m packing it all up. By Monday night, the very computer I’m using to write this will be in a box. It all has to move eventually, might as well be as ready as I can.

The goal is to move everything that I can on Wednesday. This will involve multiple trips, for I have more stuff than I have boxes to hold stuff. But I’m taking the day off work, so it’s fine. I expect to need to borrow a truck on Saturday to move the last things—that which does not fit within the confines of a Subaru Impreza, so that I can start cleaning where I’m at on Sunday. The butterflies in my stomach haven’t settled, but I’m very much ready at this point.

Finally. After 4 months, it’s almost time.