moving pains

Booked ticket to Bangkok. Arrive at 6pm on Friday, 30 August, then will somehow travel across to Mae Sot, on the border. 8 weeks away, but it still doesn’t feel quite real. Overwhelmed looking around the flat – where to store all this stuff? Or should I just throw most of it out/sell it/give it away? Feeling weirdly attached to everything, even that cheap, recycled toaster that I never use, and the 5 plants that are still green and living despite my long track-record of herbicidal neglect, and that worn but effective dish wand, and the pair of lilac-coloured touch-lamps from Argos… and my books, half of which belong to M.

This adds another painful dimension to moving. When I was rummaging in the upside-down IKEA bathroom cabinet the other day and found the rows and rows (and rows) of his anti-reflux medication/fish oil/man-vitamins, ordered off the internet months in advance, as if preparing for a hurricane, I felt a pang of grief.

A lot of affection can build up over the course of a long-term relationship, however dysfunctional it might be. Like sedimentary rock formation, with all those layers.

It still feels like a rock. Difficult to break up.