Embassy Day - minus one

My flat smells of rancid swede and carrot peel from last night's soup as I type one meter away from the garbage. Tomorrow is the long awaited for appointment at the American Embassy, but instead of neatly getting my documents in order, I'm living in artsy chaos with washing up stacked in my sink and my things from the day scattered all over the apartment. I like the mess. Tidiness would speak of efficiency. I'm too excited to be organised. After over a month's anxiety, I have the appointment and I'm almost home dry. The other all important task: removing items from my place and putting them in my suitcase to wheel away tomorrow to the car boot sale. And, of course, I could be advertising goodies on e-bay and gumtree, but I'm too happy to be organised. And on the excuses go. It's good to be a little paralysed, take this leaving slowly. I'd dreamed of the perfect leaving. Everything organised. Complete closure. But leavings were never designed to be clearcut, especially this one where I'll be flying in little over a week and only one person from work knows I'm leaving and I'm yet to purchase a plane ticket, sell my worldly goods, return my flat to the shell it once was, unpeel the layers of 49 months of life, part with it in my own way. But it will happen. Life has to go forwards.