Waves of sadness are crashing over me so quickly I don’t have time to catch my breath before I’m slapped in the face again with salty water, knocked off my feet, never getting a chance to steady myself before I’m knocked to my knees again, sand scraping and making them sting. (Should I add choking, gagging, suffocating and seaweed—coral, crabs, baby dolphins?—stuck in my gnarled, snarled hair to make the metaphor even more dramatic?)

It happens every time boo stands in the middle of the room staring at the boxes, I imagine thinking what are these things and why is my world disappearing into them? The crash of sadness. I’m sure a major factor is fatigue because he was up at 1am crying inconsolably and I had to tell him no milk till morning, which sucks every time and then he goes back to sleep for mere minutes before he wakes screaming again. At least this time he only did it twice, then slept for good. It’s also that I didn’t realize Harlan would be shooting so late and don’t have a babysitter and can’t go to mommy group dinner tonight and I don’t feel like cooking and we’ve been trying to empty the refrigerator so there’s just nothing good that’s easy so I’m stuck eating a tasteless frozen turkey burger and soup from a box. It’s that Harlan’s Friday shoot was pushed, so his last day on Mad Men is today and somehow that strikes me as sad.

It’s that Saturday we move out of our house. Friday is the last night I put boo to bed here in his perfect crib in his little nook in the corner of our office with its slanted ceiling and beautiful light, and Friday is so soon.

My father called to say he wants to come to Boston our first week there. It will make everyone’s transition easier, especially his own, a lovely thought, except I don’t want to think about anyone coming to visit us, because I don’t even want to think about going. I still can’t believe we’re going. Even as everything in my house disappears into the boxes that are piled to the ceiling, I still keep hoping I’ll wake up.