Two weeks.

Two weeks to pack the clothes, tag the pictures, sort the books, scavenge for boxes, wrap the dishes, wonder why I ever bought that sweater and just how many books I actually own.

Two weeks to forward the mail, change the address, call the cable guy, call the utility people, get the shot records for the cats, get my first-ever renter’s insurance policy.

Two weeks to pick out paint colors, choose shower curtains, take measurements, shop for furniture, realize how expensive furniture is, say yes to that old coffee table in my sister’s basement and that table that’s been hanging out in my dad’s garage and is going to be perfect in my new dining room.

Two weeks to say goodbye to yard work, clawfoot tub, window AC units, the flowers I transplanted from my dad’s garden, the kitchen with no dishwasher and no garbage disposal that was the heart of our home, and eight years of memories.

Two weeks.

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