Amy leaves in the morning

and I will be sad. Hell, I'm sad already.

It's the first real stage in our move away from this most glorious city, San Francisco. When I moved here almost two years ago, I didn't have any real expectations. I knew nothing of California, having only been here once before, when I was two. It's cliche to say it, but I really will leave a piece of my heart here when I leave.

But I'm not leaving until June. Amy leaves in the morning, to take our spastic cat across the country. Her and Eliot, for five days, in the cab of a compact pickup. I hear that's the sentence for treason in some eastern European countries. She'll be coming back to get me in a month or so--early June is when I make my true exit from California, and the closer it gets, the more it feels like it's too soon.

Don't get me wrong--I'm excited about moving to south Florida. I love Amy's family, I'll be closer to my monkey (my daughter, who lives in south Mississippi), and my sister and her family in Georgia, and I'll finally be back in a climate I'm adjusted to--the hot, sweaty air. I may never wear long pants again, or shoes other than sandals.

But for the next month, I'll miss Amy more than anything else.

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