Little Creek Station - deactivating

[mikailborg]

The house on Flowerfield looked distractingly weird last night. My steps echoed through the empty bedrooms. There was once again room to park a car in the garage. The chipped marble tile in the dining room was no longer covered with brightly-colored foam flooring.

I headed over there at 10am Sunday, to let a friend in who wanted the old futon. 14 hours of numbing, back-breaking work later, it's all empty. The last piece of Lego, the last click-base figure, the last six-sided die all found temporary homes in corrugated cardboard.

Last night I was too desperately tired to feel anything. This morning, I'm not sure what I feel.

At least I'm done battling the oil heater.

Comments

[southernsinger.livejournal.com]

I know how you feel, Michael. It's like a chapter in your "book" is closing, and you're not exactly sure where the next chapter is going.

(Ok, now, all of a sudden, the old "memory jukebox" starts playing Elvis Presley's "Memories". I definitely need to change some of the discs in there ...)