Surreal.

The last seven days are a testament to a life--a brief life, but a life nevertheless. I've had such a lovely series of goodbyes and well wishes. I will never forget Them, or This.

I started packing this morning, after tossing and turning for a few hours. I have a lot. of. stuff. I have a feeling there will be a hefty penalty levied for carrying the detritus that makes up Me across the world. It's fine, though.

(A brief note for those logicians who are wondering how I'll lug 80kg around India: I'm planning to leave most of my belongings at my hotel in New Delhi, since I'm flying in and out of that city.)

And of course, the worrying about that Old Life has begun. How do I restart something that was flailing as it was? Will the few friends I had welcome me back to my old spot on their queue, or will I be bumped to the end of the line and have to work my way up again? I've been buttressed here by so many of my old friends--E-mails, phone calls, letters, curious, unexplainable mailed things (including a Manga subtitled with Missy Elliot's "Pass The Dutch"). I hope these things are a testament to the solidity of said friendships. But, one must naturally worry.

Worry.

Worry.