On Moving and Distruption and Disassociation

Robin's office. Her computer will be the last item packed. That brightly-colored thing at left is the door to a yurt from Kyrgyzstan, just something collected along the way.


I'm in the final two weeks of packing up my house in Central Florida for my move at the end of January to California. I was weaned in television newsrooms, where one concentrates on writing and fact checking while people yell information across the room, telephones jangle constantly, people sail paper airplanes at one another, cigarettes set wastepaper baskets on fire (well, they used to) and editors erupt in expletives and shake their fists at departing reporters and photographers. So I can always write amidst chaos.

Living amidst moving chaos is another thing entirely. The last big move I made rattled me more than I realized. Driving one evening for the umpteenth time to my new place, I had what I believe is known as a disassociative episode: I looked up after driving on the freeway and not only didn't know where I was, I didn't remember how I got there.


I hadn't realized this disassociative phase was setting in again until this week. On Tuesday I ran my long list of errands, made a long list of calls and then got into my gym clothes for a workout. It wasn't until I stepped from my car in the parking lot of the YMCA and looked down at my feet that I realized I was still wearing my slippers.

Yesterday, I talked with a friend and we ran through the latest movies we might go to this weekend and didn't come up with one that both of us would like to see. Then I mentioned that I had seen the film BRIDESHEAD REVISITED advertised recently and I would look on the Internet and see when that was opening here. When I surfed the movie locations on the 'net last night, a light gradually dawned. I'd already seen BRIDESHEAD REVISITED. It came out last summer. I didn't like it very much. You would think I might have remembered that!

This wouldn't be a good time for anyone to tell me anything that they really needed for me to retain--anything that doesn't involve moving, that is. I'm writing down long "to do" lists and carefully checking everything off. I'm really on schedule on this move and, until this week, thought I was really on top of everything. But now I'm afraid I might show up at the airport on my last day in Florida in my pajamas. I sure hope those airport security guys have a sense of humor.

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