In three weeks, I'm heading out with a one way ticket to the Virgin Islands. My new job awaits me and I have yet to figure out transportation or housing. I have a hotel and a rent-a-car for the first few days. After that, I'm on my own. 

It's not like I'm going to miss it here. I'm wearing two shirts, sweatpants and boots so I don't shiver in the raw October weather New Jersey delivers. The average temperature in the islands is around 80 degrees. I can handle that. My house here is over a hundred years old and drafty. With New Jersey winters hovering around freezing, I would gladly move to escape the monthly oil bill. 

The bird has been awfully clingy lately. I think she knows I'm moving. The other bird just hides in the closet and snores. As misplaced tropical creatures, I think they understand my dilemma. I grew up in the Virginia Beach area so I'm not quite acclimated to the snow and I pine for warmer climates. I think they understand the urge to migrate.

Paralysis set in when it was time to deal with all the stuff in the house. I don't even know where to start. The worst thing was starting an online book business nine months ago. Now my house is packed with books. Either I send them to the warehouse or throw them out. But when the weekend comes, I don't care because I know I'm leaving soon and it doesn't matter.

It's difficult to pull up roots when you've lived somewhere for more than ten years. I tend to form long lasting relationships and the move to the islands has me completely discombobulated from abandoning everything familiar. In the last few weeks, I've been evil to my friends, hated every song on my iPod, and rejected every offer of kindness. I just want to leave now because it's the path set in motion, but I'm here three more weeks to tie up loose ends. Accepting the here and now is hard since I know I'll be leaving so shortly.

Slipping into the rhythm of sunsets by the harbor was so easy. I felt calmed by the simplicity of island life. No more rush, rush, rush...their idea of traffic was nothing compared to the Turnpike and 195. Try praying that a dump truck doesn't cream you at 70 mph when you just hit a backup after the crest of the overpass...nobody comes close to those speeds on the island and dump trucks are few and far between. Nothing shoots your adrenaline up in the a.m. like having a dump truck rumble past you in the grassy median because he didn't have enough distance to stop. The lazy traffic backups on the island will be a welcome relief. 

It's going to be a long road, the next three weeks. Too much to do combined with too much work yields not a lot of productivity at home. My heart is already elsewhere.

I'm going to miss the chickens. I wish they could come along, but they'd end up being very expensive chickens and since I'm renting to start, I'm not sure a landlord would appreciate five chickens. We have adoptive chicken-parents in mind. Well, I have an adoptive chicken-parent in mind. My husband's friend has his own designs on my chickens but I'm not sure. It takes a special chicken-parent to understand these chickens. They're spoiled chickens and like to be carried around like lap dogs.  

The house is a dump, for sure, but I'm not concerned. At week three, if it's a dump now, there's nothing I can do about it with my limited schedule.

The yard looks like hell, with the beautiful flowers of mid-summer now wilting husks. I just don't have the time. Soon my plane leaves and all the flowers I loved will be gone...