In response to the lists paving my route east

I woke up this morning because I could hardly breathe. My heart raced; my lungs ached for air. I couldn’t catch my breath.
Outside, the raccoons ripped into the garbage bag I forgot. They were gone before I could think of something abusive to scream. Instead I picked up the trash – bits of tin foil, popcorn seeds. I left the coffee grounds, but they stained my bare feet, so I guess I brought those in too.
My heart refused to be calmed.

In a few days the items on my lists will be things tucked and stuffed and folded into bags. Clothes, too many books, a few packs of Trident. I guess it isn’t as much as it seems. The lists are long. But I still wonder, will I need to throw a tarp over the back of the truck, or will I be able to fit it all in the passenger seat? And I wonder, will my spare tire suffice if I get a flat (will I even be able to change it on the side of the road)? And I wonder, was Grandma right? Should I really dress like a man so as not to be preyed upon? And mostly I wonder, is anyone waiting for me there?