unplanted

i’m out of touch, you’re out of touch (ohh out of touch…)

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It’s time to get packing.   My flight leaves in oh, about fifteen hours or so.  The closer I get to leaving the more I realize I’m going to miss Petey.  Like I’ve said before, he just might be the closest thing ever I have to a kid (and that wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing).  I don’t think he realizes I’m leaving.  I’ve tried to explain it to him, but his English is limited.  Even putting it into simple words (“I’m going; you stay”) doesn’t make sense to him.  So I’ve been telling him he’s going on vacation.  The thirty or so cups of food I packed for him is pretty enticing, I think.  He knows something’s up. 

Imagine that world.  Knowing something is going on, but having no idea what that something might be.  People are doing stuff to your personal effects–shifting them around, packing them up, asking you not to touch them or move them for a while.  And the people are doing the same with their stuff–putting it in little boxes and then closing those boxes and setting them by the door.  The door.  That must mean something.  Usually it means going somewhere: maybe out to pee, maybe for a walk, maybe for a ride in the car.   But it always means we’re coming back.  So what does it mean when the stuff is going somewhere?  Are we all going with it or is it going by itself?  And where is it going and where are we going and what are we going to do there?  And are we coming back?  And what does it mean that we’re going there?  Please tell me: what, if anything, does it all mean?

Petey the existentialist. 

I’m going to miss him.

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Author: Kim Sharp

more later

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