You'd sleep here, I'd sleep there... but then, the heating may be down again.

Apr 11, 2006 14:20



"I would rather not go
Back to the old house
I would rather not go
Back to the old house
Too many memories"
- the Smiths

I think I'm going to live in a house next semester.

I don't care with whom, but I want to stay in a house.

I like houses better than apartments.

I'm doing it. I'm sold on it.

I had a dream last night where Sarah and I were visiting a friend who had just bought a house in downtown Seattle. It had a huge deck looking out over the city and it sat on the dark shelf of one of Seattle's hill-like mountains. We and listened to records on a real record player and ate red olives from a green bowl on the counter. We tried to shoot the pits into a red hat that belonged to one of his rooommates and sat crumpled on the ground. It started raining very hard so I decided I wasn't catching the bus home. He let Sarah and I have his bed and he camped out on the couch. I don't know if I would ever really do this, but it was nice to think he'd be willing to give up his bed over a rainstorm. For some reason Jessie stayed in the room right next to ours. She gave us a tape player with Bob Marley in it to help us fall asleep in our friend's bed, which we'd never slept in before. I don't know if I really know the boy in real life - if I do, I can't remember who he is right now. Once I do, I'll have to thank him for the huge quilt he keeps on his bed. It's very warm.

Maybe it's not a good idea to put stock in dreams, but I love giving them a little bit of significance. I do and say things I'd be too shy to do or say in real life - and all the colors seem so refreshingly real. More real than the grey and green smattered all over this dank apartment.

So, a house it is, I guess.

I've got a few in mind, a few I've found for decent prices.

Houses have a character that apartments don't. Apartments line up next to each other - all the same - all blocked out in cold chunks like prison cells. I don't want to live in an apartment or dorm anymore. I don't ever want to.

I have been spending a lot of time here at Jessie's lately. Apparently this bothered one of the roommates so they went to the landlord like a responsible adult and promptly tattled. The landlord thinks she will charge me rent, which is absurd considering I have none of my own space or "to do" here. If it bothered one of the roommates, they should have confronted me. I find the whole thing childish and a bit excessive. I'll just leave - it's fine. No harm done. I have a place I live in, I'm not bumming off of anyone. I don't think I'll pay rent for somewhere I'm not staying, eh? I was considering staying at Old Mill next year, but this sealed the deal. No. No, I'm not going to. Jessie has had too many problems with roommates here to make it worth my while. I'll find me a nice little house for under 300 a month and camp out there next year. It'll be charming.

I guess I'll talk to these people and try to work something out. I think it's ridiculous - and I'm strongly opposed to paying any money. I would gladly have left if I would have been consulted on the issue. I'm actually a good roommate. I keep to myself, I clean up the kitchen, and I don't stay up at all hours talking loudly on the phone - or - shouting at my own mother.

What silly childish behavior.

I'm happy that the semester is almost over. I enjoy fall semesters best of all. Even though they're wintry, cold, and generally have the most different feeling from year to year - they never seem to involve the same ammount of stress as Winter semester. By the end of winter semester I'm always counting the days until I get to leave.

I feel deeply nostalgic over Seattle when I should be reading for Spanish, homeworking for HEPE, writing for Romantic lit, or taking a shower. I had planned to finish up my paper today but I really haven't started working on it. I need three more pages on that sucker. I've a lot of revamping and carving out to do. It's all about John Keats, but all I want to do is sit around and draw, write, or read.

and not in an organized, constructive way.

I bought another Sherlock Holmes book. Did I say that? It's wonderful but I get tied up in it for hours. I really don't have the hours to do it.

I love his moody moments. I love when he slumps over in his armchair with his violin and peels away those long sad melodies. I love when he leaves off a case to catch a concert in London to clear his head. I love how he hums concertos and conducts imaginary symphonies in the air.

I will probably think of Sherlock when I'm playing Dvorak 9 tonight. It's my concert. It's at 7:30 and I'll be playing with a handful of very talented horn players.

You should come.

It will be wonderful.

Well, I'm going to at least take a shower.

Maybe I'll read.

And eat red olives out of a green bowl.

Out on the deck with the rain trickling down from the overhang.

"When you cycled by
Here began all my dreams
The saddest thing I've ever seen
And you never knew
How much I really liked you
Because I never even told you
Oh, and I meant to

I would love to go
Back to the old house
But I never will

I never will"

- the Smiths

housing, college, music, dreams, books

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