In terms of time, there are about five months left. I added it up, though, and thanks to the traveling I'm doing, I will only be in this house for about another 45 days. That knowledge colors my actions.

(If you're seeing this, you're on the most restrictive filter I've got for entries. Please remember that very few people are on this filter, and that we're not discussing this topic in public now, or for some time.)

"I would be happy in many more places than you would, I think." —Jeff

I think this process will get easier as time goes on. Right now, it's still nowhere near that. Of all the conversations I've had in the past month, the one I've referred back to the most in my mind has been Karen's. She mentioned something that no one else brought up, something that has been truer than I expected at the time. The decision to go requires a mourning period. You're either going to do it after you've left, when the newness hits you all at once, or you're going to do it before you leave.

I realized with a physical jerk that I can write this, can say this now. I've used circumspect, veiled references for so long that being able to speak plainly and openly feels strange, like I'm getting away with something naughty and terrible.