The last morning in the sun porch. The last evening at the dog park. The last time I’ll eat at our favorite Mexican joint. It feels like the last everything.
Our house is a huge pile of boxes. I can’t figure out where all this stuff was hidden, or where it’ll go once we get down there.
I leave tomorrow and won’t be back until next Sunday. Monday will be our day of stuffing the truck. Tuesday, we hit the road.
For those of you with orders in for signed books, I’m really going the extra mile. I’ve got some signed and packaged that my wife will ship off on Tuesday (the post office is closed tomorrow). I’m also having her bring the books set to arrive here at the house this week when she comes to ConCarolinas. I’ll have padded mailers and printed address labels down there with me, so we’ll get the rest off on Friday before we hit the convention. The next time I ship off signed books, it’ll be from Florida, from a different post office. Because the last time I went to the post office up here was one more case of my last . . . everything.