Ceasefire (Catch-22).
Six weeks from today, if all goes to plan, the place from which I'm typing this will no longer be my home. And because Life, there will not yet be another physical home on that date, and the waiting will begin. Until at which point it is not, home will be transient and vague and unpredictable, but always, always with my beautiful son. That will have to do. Because I need to go. Now. It wasn't supposed to be like this, nothing was. But as I've learned over many years across many miles, no Master Plan ever manifests itself completely. And if you aren't prepared to craft plans B-ZZ on the fly, you are toast. And you will be rolled. Despite the endless opportunities to prepare for this moment-to-be, to anticipate and face That Day that I've been looking for (sadly for some time now) it's still currently suffocating me, and choking me, and kicking my ass. Because endings are hard. Because the only real way to survive an ending is to skip straight over it and focu...