For some reason, I can’t bring myself to just throw out stuff.  Even now, after all the bedlam that this house has been—dust buffaloes and all—I’m finding places in the kitchen to put my used but perfectly usable pans in a cupboard, pushed all the way back so only a new tenant will find them.

A strange things it is here in Korea when you move out: you don’t have to clean those buffaloes, you don’t have to wipe down the sink or the toilet.  We are happy for this fact because, even with all the stuff we’ve gotten done, today there is still the bank to visit (exchange all the KRW coins, transfer money home, pay bills, get Maylay Ringgets, tell our credit card people not to cut us off since we’ll be in six countries before mid-May); there is still the post to visit (we still have seven boxes or so to send home, not including Nic’s computer and the external hard drive and all the important docs we have with us, i.e. diplomas, marriage license); send off a resume for an online teaching position; have a cup of coffee; donate the rest of my clothes; go to one last Russian tea party.  And those are the things I can remember off the top of my head without a cup of coffee in my system.

We have it in our heads that all of our stuff will be taken care of today.  We’re probably out of our minds to think this may happen.  We’re also a little daffy for thinking we’re going to make it one last time to our favorite mountain top—the place where I proposed to Nic.  If we don’t, I’ll be okay with it because that place exists firmly in my mind.  Besides, the result of repetitive lifting (in the wrong way) has manifested in a pinched nerve or a strained muscle in my lower right back that now has me adding something else to the list: go to acupuncture.  With all the aches and pains (knees, neck, upper back, lower back, shoulders), being the symbolist that I am, I am inclined to believe that it is time for me to leave Korea.  Tomorrow.  Sun and humidity and nothing to lift but my book, my beer or my 11 kilo bag will be therapy for me.