It had to happen eventually, but it took a bottle of mead and a late night and finally signing off of work to realize it. I am going. I am really going. I have this sleep, the one that's coming for me fast even as I type this entry, and one abbreviated one more, and that is it. A little over twenty-four hours and I am gone.
I am lying on the guest bed next to a surprisingly small pile of items that must go with me. Is this all I need of life for two weeks? Really?