I’m leaving San Diego in less than two weeks, so I’m starting to notice in the back of my mind that I’m doing certain things for “The Last Time”. You know, like, this is The Last time I’ll fuel up at the Chevron by my house. Or: this is The Last Time I’ll have sushi in San Diego.
Except I’m not quite that close to leaving, yet. Most things I do, I’ll do a few more times. It’s only The Last Time I’ll do some pretty obscure things.
Yesterday was The Last Time I’ll be held up at the train crossing… by two trains going opposite directions. Today was The Last Time I’ll fuel up at the Chevron by my house… when I was already going east… in the morning. Tomorrow will be The Last Time I go to my research meeting… to the Friday meeting… on my bike.
It feels like a suburban kindergarten version of the detachment process: Everyone’s drawing gets a gold star, whether or not they even picked up a crayon; every dumb mundane thing I do gets promoted to the ‘Last’ that dumb mundane thing.
Oh, I think I forgot to say in previous posts. I’m moving to San Francisco. Excellent location, vicinity of 15th and Market, near public transit, walking distance from Haight and Castro and Mission and their scads of wonderful bars. Come visit, we’ll test that theory, just to make sure it still holds, like they do in science. Yes of course you can crash on the couch.