I’m putting my life into boxes, one memory-book-trinket at a time. It feels like it’ll never get done.The Frenchman is coming over later today to help. I feel like an idiot sometimes, staring at everything as I try to process what needs to happen. Out of the Closet is coming over today to take the couches, although I’m torn — I cleaned up one of them and I’m thinking of keeping it. They both look pretty smashing now, actually, but the futon is a gonner fo’ shuh.

I scored two discount luggage bags at LAX Luggage on Sepulveda. One a lovely olive green tapestry and the other plain black. The Marquise gave me two great fluorescent luggage tags: one says, “Not Your Bag!” and the other, “Don’t make me chase you!”

If I’m lucky, I’ll start packing clothes today, but I get the feeling I’m not so lucky today. I’m a bit hamstrung, in fact, until the Out of the Closet people come because I can’t leave to get more boxes. I got some boxes from Staples last night, but they cost too much and were shaped strangely.

There are other, very exciting things going on in the publishing parts, but I can’t talk about them quite yet until I’m sure about them. I think that’s what helped me sleep last night so well for the first time in weeks.

The worst part is trying to strategize as I pack: what to leave out, what to pack loosely so that I can get it later, and what to send back to someone. I think all of the latter are just going into storage. If they haven’t asked for it by now, they don’t need it.

Damn. Coffee cup is empty. Must begin monotony afresh…