i was looking for an old comment i'd made about that crazy virgin mary statue on my neighbor's front porch (before i moved), but it looks like haloscan has taken some of the older comments off-line for the time being. i did find this one, though, that'll i'll save from the realm of the comment and make into a post on merit. just because i know some good people who've just moved. [i.e.: i've not stopped posting because of you, red.]


i've had this strange propensity, lately, to construct these long comment strings in response to (or something just tagged randomly onto) my own posts. i don't fully understand the phenomenon, nor do i even really care to analyze it. the point of pointing it out, then, rendered pointless.

summer seems to be the time for moving. either people are itching to move. or have done so. some just in the process of carrying heavy boxes across town in the back of a borrowed car. all of us, come up suddenly intoxicated by the smell of sharpies, the crying sound of packing tape pulled from a reel, and our inability to part with things we probably don't need and also don't have any idea what to do with. then left to find a spot for it somewhere new. still the same us. the same stuff. just against a different colored wall or a longer/shorter/taller/shared/cubed/dirty cabinet.

i'm in love with my new place. it's a crush i'm not going to keep secret. the afternoon sunlight through the gigantic living room windows is something beyond the way desire feels. pent up words in a rusted throat--suddenly let free. the whole place glows gold for a few hours until it's all replaced by the cool greys and blues of the summer evening as if someone threw an old wool blanket over the building.

i can read here. and think. and write. i can drink tea and eat biscuits in the middle of the night when i can't sleep or i need to work. it feels good to have my own space. it feels good to feel good.