Packing up Camp Shoehead

Since I got notice that the Nefarious Uncle Nemo sold the house, and I have a limited time to vacate, I’ve begun the process of cleaning, throwing out, and packing up the clothes, books, papers, and belongings that make up a part of who I am. It’s been particularly painful for me, since I’m constantly reminded of my early days with the Lovely Mrs. Shoehead; finding pictures and other mementos from our happier times. Add that to the stress of moving, as well as not really having any place to go, and it has been quite an experience these last couple of weeks.
I really do love my wife. It makes me sad that we have such massive incompatibilities that neither of us would be happy together. Moving out of this house is definitely the closing of a huge chapter in my life. At the onset of moving to Firebaugh, we were (or at least I was) planning to buy the house from Uncle Nemo, and live a nice, quiet small-town existence with Mrs. Shoehead and sundry pets. I would concentrate on my writing, finish and produce my screenplays, and a few times a year travel to L.A. or other locations to work on film projects. But it was not to be so. The fates had a different plan for the Family Shoehead.
I’m leaving behind the graves of two beloved cats, Starva and Vanilla Bean (“Beansie”). I never even got around to construct the little heart-shaped grave markers I planned to place over them. Maybe it’s just as well—they sleep peacefully under two little piles of rocks.
Though this process is very painful, I also see a bright side to it as well. I liken it to childbirth—intense pain, followed by a joy; a new beginning. A new life.
Firebaugh—while a quaint little town that I really did try to adapt to—was never really a comfortable fit for me. It lacked certain amenities, and conveniences that I prefer to have in my life. My only comfort was taken in this house—Casa Shoehead. It at first provided me with a secure refuge, but over time it slowly became a prison for me. When I worked at C.C.W.F., I literally left one prison, and came home to another. Now it’s been just about a year since the Lovely Mrs. Shoehead left me; sometime in mid-May 2009. The 5-bedroom house filled with reminders of her and us fill me with such a loneliness that even my three precious dogs and two sweet little cats can’t quite ameliorate. Packing up Camp Shoehead and leaving Firebaugh and Uncle Nemo’s is going to be a good move for me, however painful the actual move turns out to be.
As the chapter ends, a new one unfolds…