The Remains of the Pad

I seem to be suffering from some sort of paralysis whenever I take the time to face the idea of packing the rest of my dwindling remainings, because doing so acknowledges that it is real, that I'm moving, that I'm about to start what promises to be the most grueling year of my life in another state surrounded by people I don't know and perhaps won't be able to identify with. Packing makes it real - it means I'm giving up the Pad and moving to the Cottage. I can't seem to get the stone of dread and doubt and apprehension out of the pit of my stomach long enough to accomplish the things that need getting done...and my time grows ever shorter...