Three weeks. Just three more weeks before I've seen the last of this place. I still have moments of great apprehension, to the point I was offered Xanax to help calm me down. Why am I so fretful over this move? It's not the move itself. Moving is just packing boxes, loading boxes and furniture, and rolling to another place. It's the 'other place' I'm so nervous about. I know this is supposed to be a good move for me, I know this, yet I still feel like I'm being flung out into the universe without a lead, untethered, without responsibility. Maybe that's what it is. I'm giving up the last little crumb of responsibility I had here, the final thread is being severed. I think perhaps I've existed to serve others for so long that I don't know what to do when there are no 'others' to serve.
The house is nearly packed, but the studio is still completely intact. It's strange to walk through the house with bare walls, packed boxes in a corner, all traces of personality erased, then walk into the studio which looks cozy and well-loved. The kid is moving first, so perhaps this is what it will look like for a while -- a live room surrounded by a group of dead, empty rooms.
I think I think too much.
What I would love to do, once established, is open a small shop -- a thurifercorium, an incense shop, and hold smelling sessions with a small back room dedicated to perfumery and perfume formulation, and a wee soapery. Imagine cozying up on plush Moroccan settees with the scent of rare and exotic resins curling into the air, the warm glow of beeswax candles, the sweet iron bite of honied black tea, and the promise of fragrant alluring edibles ~ neroli cookies, patchouli goat cheese with dried plums, toasted pecans and sea salt, rose scones ~ and while away the day in aromatic bliss.