I've said goodbye to many people over the past several days; some I'm sure I won't see for a long time, some I know I will not ever see again in my life, and some who I will miss dearly but take in the comfort that we didn't really utter goodbyes.

Careful, this may get so corny that it's indigestible without a hearty dollop of butter.

Tonight, I had dinner with Pixie and Anonymous, my two bestest friends in the whole wide world (says the thirteen-year-old inside me). I know that Melbourne is only an hour's flight away, but I shudder at the thought that soon I will not be able to see them at a moment's notice.

I'm asked often why I want to move to a strange city away from my friends. Sometimes I'm at a loss for an answer.

I am still happy at the thought of the freedom and the anonymity. But the lingering thoughts for those I'm leaving behind tugs at my heartstring.

When the doubts start to accumulate, I try to remind myself of that Robert Frost poem:

"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood..."

It's calming effects have slowly eroded as the goodbyes escalate.

Goodbyes are horrible. They seem so definite and terminating. When Pixie and I parted earlier this evening, we made a point not to hug each other goodbye nor utter the word.

The heavily pouring rain fit the scene as I drove home.