Well, the packing has officially begun. Deb and Jesse came by, yesterday, and we dove into it. Filled 8 medium-sized boxes and three plastic totes. Still more, but not really that much more. I didn’t think there would be. It wasn’t that long ago that I moved into the Last Exit and most of my stuff is still in boxes at D&J’s house. Deb and I were supposed to get together and do some more packing, today, but I’m out of boxes until Donny can get me some more. That’s okay. I hate packing. Besides, I still have time. It’ll get done.

Time. It’s all relative, anyway. I mean, what are we if not time travellers, caught up in our own unfolding time streams. Travelling from point A to point B, by virtue of visualization and concentrated effort to arrive on a certain date at an approximate time. I know that I’ll be in Las Cruces by noon on the 15th. What I do, between now and then, to make that happen is incidental to the outcome. Unless I really fuck it up, but that’s not about to happen. The ball is rolling, the clock is ticking, the stream is… streaming. That’s what time travel is all about, baby.

The trick is to make good use of the increments as they tick by. Either Rip Van Winkle it, by doing nothing except wait, or Dr. Who it, by tinkering with the stream as it unfolds. I like tinkering. It’s in my nature. But I can also see the virtue of hunkering down and waiting it out. Less chance of close encounters with the cosmic monkey wrench. Or confrontations with the flying monkeys flinging those wrenches, themselves, like pivitol poo on a trajectory of timetable upset. What? Uh huh. Too much coffee, man. Seriously. So, where was I? Oh yeah… the passage of time…

Donny woke me this morning by whispering in my ear, “11 more days.” Sadly. Prosaically. Yeah. Less than two weeks, then I won’t see him again until mid-October. I’m trying not to think about that. He asked me, a couple days ago, if there was ANYthing that I’d miss about Phoenix. I couldn’t think of a thing. There are people I’ll miss, but this being a very transient city, I don’t consider the few friends I have left here as “part of” Phoenix. They all hate it, too, and it probably won’t be long before they’re beating a hasty retreat, themselves. Beyond that, no, there isn’t anything I’ll miss. Nothing I’ll want to come back for. I don’t know if that’s sad, or not.

I guess only time will tell…




Time passages…