My friend told me a story yesterday about a sloppy improv incident where a fellow player yelled, "CHLOROFORM!" shutting down the scene by taking a whole cast of characters out of the story. This seems an apt way to describe my recent actions as I am pretty sure I quit my job yesterday: I all but yelled "CHLOROFORM!" as I was leaving the office with a bag of Tupperware, shoes, and an appropriated Taylor Swift calendar. (That is, my personal effects.) It hasn't quite sunk in that I won't be going to this place I've gone each day for the past five years—that I've shut down all these characters I've known and that storyline in my life is over. My mom says "life is in the details" and I guess I'm in the process of changing mine. If you can't tell, I have a lot of Feelings lately. Because of which or why I'm listening to a lot of Death Cab remains unclear. I'm nearing the end now—Salami seems strong from the inside while we seem prepared from the outside. The one pair of maternity jeans I bought have developed a hole. And I suffer the usual complaints of sleepless nights (despite a lap or two around the Point each evening) and lots of groaning when attempting routine motions. (I wrote this watching the sky lighten with the sun and then stall on a cloudy morning—a fitting metaphor for where we are in this Big Wait.)
So I've decided not to work but to spend the next few weeks bangin on me drum all day—where the drum is actually cleaning the bathroom floor (an activity I have not had the energy for but with which I am completely obsessed), putting up fresh summer produce for winter, and napping. These are my new details. At least until the baby arrives.