I’m packing an overnight bag.

Well, not really. I’m avoiding packing an overnight bag. I’ll lay out a few items — some socks, a clean t-shirt — then I’ll totter off and check in on work. Or check my email. Then I’ll get my toiletry bag down from the high shelf in the bathroom — haven’t done much traveling the last couple years — and throw it onto the pile. Then I step away again, make a cup of tea. I should probably check my email again.

Chances are good I won’t even need the bag, honestly. The appointment starts tomorrow, early, and if all goes well I should be back before lunch. But there’s a slight chance — slight — that things won’t go well, and my morning at the hospital could become a night at the hospital. So. Overnight bag.

Since last summer, I’ve hit a bunch of milestones: some have been incredibly, deeply challenging, but others have been downright uplifting. And each time one of those milestones appears on the horizon, I’ve felt like I’m standing before a door. On this side of the door, I haven’t crossed yet; things are unresolved, open. But once I open the door and walk through? Well, I’m on the other side of the door. I’ve passed a marker, things become decided, and the door’s closed behind me.

Dunno. It’s hard to describe. All I can do is keep walking, and take the doors as they come.

 — oh, right. Better finish packing.