There are, at least, some empty single shelves now. No actual empty bookcases yet. And it's not like this is the last room to pack, either. I feel like we're rather behind schedule, but I also have a feeling we're just going to end up wildly packing the day before we leave, and that always seems to work out all right.
Otherwise, I am in an odd state. At turns alienated by the sense that my life has gone off the usual track into somewhere undiscovered--which it has--and frightened by the immensity of the changes hurtling toward me. But also pleased to be getting away, to have a chance to recover from our financial apocalypse stress and to have some time as a couple to just be together. I have a problematic relationship to large changes (which always read as loss to my brain rather than gain); they upset me, even when they're for the best. I find myself wandering my house like a ghost, touching things and trying to decide if we should keep them, remembering their significance, the moments they represent.
This is extremely difficult for me. The fact that it's a boon doesn't change that. I feel like some sort of feelings-shark: if I stop moving, stop socializing and cramming in as much time as I can with the people I care about, I freeze up with existential dread and a looming sense of doom.
(All not helped by the fact that we still don't have any news on his visa appeal, and I realized a few days ago that it might have been smarter and faster and more reliable to just spend the extra $500 to reapply fully, even though we don't have that money. But now it's too late for that, too. Hindsight is 20/20. We may not hear back before it's time for me to leave, and that makes me feel catastrophically terrible.)