If you aren't packing, you really aren't moving.
That's what I have been trying to convince myself for several weeks.
I've been shuffling clothes, shoes, papers and books, but never really putting anything in boxes.
I had my fiance move my dressers two weeks ago so that made me feel like I had accomplished something.
But I just dumped the contents of the dressers out of my bed.
I moved some bridal shower gifts to my fiance's place so that made me feel better, too.
Today is my final day at the Register; Thursday was my last night in my apartment.
I had good intentions to start moving the weekend of Memorial Day. I even had my mom over for the weekend and packing was on our to-do list.
Instead we went to Danny Boy's (a restaurant I discovered in my last month here, unfortunately), spent a day at Cedar Point and on the sunniest day, went to Soak City.
When we weren't eating, riding or tanning, we watched movies.
That's another trick I played on myself. I had my cable turned off in May. I watched videos instead of packing.
When I wasn't packing, I was working. That's the most comforting way to avoid the last month, last week and now last day thing. Business as usual.
The Register has been a labor of love for 51/2 years.
The story's over today.
It started with my car being towed.
I interviewed at the Register in September 2001 and the managing editor told me to park along Jackson Street.
I must have been nervous because I parked in front of a driveway. As I wrote my first story ever for the Register, my car was being towed away.
When I left for the day and discovered my car was gone, I was too embarrassed to tell my future employers.
Instead, I walked over to the courthouse and stumbled upon Barb, who drove me to the Sandusky Police Department. It was there a man I later learned is Dave Merkle took care of my ticket. That wouldn't be a great way to welcome a new person to town, he said. I didn't tell him I wasn't accepting the job.
As I drove home, I thought, "Glad that is over."
But it had just begun.
I took the job at the Register when the hiring for another job got delayed. Six months later, that paper called to ask if I was still interested.
Nope. Sandusky is taking care of me just fine -- still is.
There's this lady at Kroger who works the self-check. She is concerned I am not eating enough. She looks at my groceries without shame. Grapes again, Brandi?
Then there are the ladies at Ming's Garden who know my favorite dish (big rice and won ton without onions) and get it ready without me ordering.
Lee Silvani, former city commissioner, is my Sandusky grandpa. He knows when I need to hear I am one heck of a gal.
And there's my city mother: City Commission Clerk Joyce Brown. When I broke up with my boyfriend, she was at my house with soup.
Even former Ex officio Mayor Mike Kresser has a soft spot for me. Once, after a lunch break during a Saturday commission meeting, he asked if I had eaten.
For the record, Sandusky, I do eat.
The ladies at the KeyBank in downtown Sandusky were kind enough to call me when my funds were overextended; and the day my money flew out of my hands in hurricane-like winds, one of the clerks calmed me down and made losing $40 seem not so bad.
The UPS guy once left my package at work because he didn't want it stolen from my doorstep.
Oh yeah, and what about the time Sandusky Det. Mark Volz scraped snow off my windows?
Gosh, I will miss this place. Toledo is too big to care about losing one young person.
Sandusky watches after you because you are a novelty in this older community and everyone wants you to make it your home.
I am moving today, but it will take a while to move on. No matter how slow I pack, I am leaving Sandusky.
I have to get moving.