A final day in Port Charlotte. I wish I could say that it was a final day in Florida, but trying to push out of state all in one shot? Well that seems like a pretty crazy idea. Florida is a terribly long state. The Simpson's describes it as America's Wang – fair enough.
Final load of clothing in the Washing machine – who knows when we'll have the luxury of clean clothes without any cost again? But then – then comes the sweeping, and the vacuuming, and the covering drains with tin foil. Why cover the drains with tin foil? Well, I haven't entirely worked that out – but it was on the checklist of things to do when closing up this place here, so who am I to question it?
And packing – for the last few weeks I've been free of living out of a back pack. I didn't go so far as to use drawers or closets, but a pile of things strewn on the floor, without fear of having them stolen, or 'cleaned away', well that's was a luxury. Now I had to repack, separating t-shirts into one pouch, shorts into another, boxers into a final. It seems that I had more clothing now than ever before. I could not go an entire week without having to re-wear a single item. Well, except for shorts – but they'd need only do a few days a pair. Back, even a few weeks ago, I had five shirts and one pair of shorts.
In the re-pack I also allowed myself the privilege of leaving one shirt behind in Florida, which will make its way back to me some time in 2011. This shirt has haunted me for months now, always being the last to be worn. When I left back in September, I liked it. It was a rather warm shirt, but has since become too warm, too scratchy – I dreaded ever having to put it on. It was my greatest fear that I should look to my bag and have only it remaining. But now, with newly purchased items, its days of torment are behind me! At last, I am free.
Free at last, free at last.
With as much cleared away as could be we headed out to Wal-Mart. This had nothing to do with needing to throw out bags of garbage, I can assure you that. There is no way that we would do that, as dumping home garbage in public places is illegal. Still, after weeks of rinsing out all metal cans, and plastic jugs – hoping to recycle them (it turned out we had no recycling bin) – we had amassed a great number of them. They were crushed by our make shift stomp-factory where we embraced our inner third grader. Finding themselves bagged for disposal they needed a receptacle. But, again, we would never toss them in one outside of Wal-Mart.
At the Wal-Mart we decided to grab ourselves a going away treat – a small slab of Birthday Cake (the type with the terrible plastic-tasting icing that Katherine oh so loves), a cake in the shape of a puppy, a pint of Phish Food Ice Cream, and a box of strawberries. Seeing our purchase, the man at the checkout counter laughed, “Man, I'm coming to your place later. This is how to throw a party.”
As we ate our diabetes enhancing desserts, watching the cartoon Archer – as well as catching up on the latest True Blood – the weather outside took a turn for the worst. Rain began to pour down in great sheets, while lightening filled the blanks in the darkness. It reminded me of last night, when the sky filled, momentarily with a pseudo daylight. Without any sound of thunder the sky flashed white, all around, before returning to darkness. The eerie strobing continued on as we stood outside, watching – rain nowhere to be seen.
When finally the thunder made itself heard, the spell was broken, and we returned inside where we sliced the head off our sugar-filled puppy and began to dig in. Morbid, creepy, and relatively delicious (until the stomach aches to follow.) What more could one ask for on a final day?