I am addicted to Wild Oats take-out sushi. It’s so fresh; I can grab it as the sushi chef puts it in the case, and so incredibly tasty. I’ve got it bad.

Packing is kicking into high gear as things start to disappear into boxes. The studio and the back room are completely packed up, and I’ve moved my base of operations into the skeletal living room. I’m well past the “occasionally used or looked at” portion of our household, and into the “use a lot, but hopefully not before Thursday” things now. The kitchen will be packed up over the weekend, which gives me a great excuse to get more take-out sushi.

Weird artifacts of the past five years have been surfacing as I’ve gotten deeper into things; a small and entirely unmethodical archaeological dig on my life. I’ve let a lot of stuff go, either to the trash or to Goodwill, and I’m sure I’m going to have some sort of guilt over the things that made the cut. I’d like to be a monk or a packrat, but it’s just not possible to keep everything or get rid of everything right now. I’m living quite firmly in the Grey Belt between Black and White.