7 days

That's all I can think about, all I keep coming back to. It's the inaudible coda tacked onto the end of every sentence: on Tuesday I'm leaving town for good.

Gotta be in court on Friday morning to finalize the divorce because on Tuesday I'm leaving town for good.
Gotta hurry up and get in touch with Kali about that scarification piece because on Tuesday I'm leaving town for good.
I'd really like a new stereo but I should wait because on Tuesday I'm leaving town for good.
The laundry is piling up and I should wash it because on Tuesday I'm leaving town for good.
Odin needs to be fixed and we have to do it soon because on Tuesday I'm leaving town for good.

What have I missed in this city? What did I always want to do but never got around to? Not a lot, actually; there's more that I regret doing than not doing. I never asked myself permission. In some cases I'm still seeking forgiveness.

Every time I've moved out of an apartment lately, I've left with the distinct impression that my time there went horribly wrong, or at least could have been handled so much more effectively. I'm happy that that will not be the case on Tuesday. I'm not leaving behind a broken relationship, a failed job, a floundering college transcript. My shit is together. My loose ends are tied up, or getting that way.

And I still feel miserably lonely.

These are not second thoughts. I am still going. Nothing is holding me back and nothing is driving me away, and this is the beautiful poise of the entire situation, the instant at the top of the parabola when the thrown object neither rises nor falls. This is motive force writ in black Magic Marker across the forehead of my life.

On Tuesday I'm leaving town for good.