(no subject)
She's in her kitchen, cooking. To be exact, she's spinning around, phone in hand, searching for her spices and holding a conversation at the same time, asking the other person where to find things. Not that the other one would know, really. Röyksopp is playing in the background. Not quite night club volume, but two notches above the threshold where sonic wallpaper takes on a life of its own, becoming a space within another. The sun inches toward the low altitudes, the gilding adorning the birch leaves outside her window slowly fading into the directionless light blue that passes for twilight this time of the year.
She moved in to her new abode yesterday with the help of yours truly and a couple of others. Undaunted by rain our brave four loaded her belongings into frighteningly rickety trailerfuls held together by gravity, tarps, way too few lines and hope. Miraculously nothing fell by the wayside and we got to haul every item up three flights of stairs. No elevators in a house this low, of course. Our third and final round trip culminated in pizza, beer and pig tossing, gathered around a tabletop perched between two mattresses. Later, after a quarter of our number had resigned to exhaustion, we moved on to communal tanka poetry. Good times were had, even if we were half asleep by then.
In retrospect, June went by in a flash. Moving into my new place, beginning work, getting to terms with early awakenings, early bedtimes and reacquainting myself with the concept of consequences to every action - even inaction - provided me with plenty to do. But all that was mostly just routine, things of diminuitive importance. Well, mostly anyway. The atonement for a slight and the humble beginning of a healing process was nothing insignificant, even if the forms it took were sometimes almost ridiculously macabre.
The most resonant, the most vivid thing, though, was her. A presence that suddenly filled my life with sights, sounds, thoughts, silly risks and excesses in gastronomy and sleep deprivation. It's amazing how easily the gray filter through which I had gotten used to sullenly glaring at existence was peeled off and put aside. (Though knowing my nature, it is still stored somewhere, should I ever need it again. Sort of like the old army boots with their soles broken in two that I stored away in case I ever got to sending them back to the factory for a refund or a new pair, which I didn't.) At times I wasn't quite sure whether I was awake or sleepwalking and not quite brave enough to pinch myself to find out. But it looks like I really didn't dream it all and that thought makes me so happy I could actually glow.
These have been interesting times. These have been good times. Here's to more of them.
She moved in to her new abode yesterday with the help of yours truly and a couple of others. Undaunted by rain our brave four loaded her belongings into frighteningly rickety trailerfuls held together by gravity, tarps, way too few lines and hope. Miraculously nothing fell by the wayside and we got to haul every item up three flights of stairs. No elevators in a house this low, of course. Our third and final round trip culminated in pizza, beer and pig tossing, gathered around a tabletop perched between two mattresses. Later, after a quarter of our number had resigned to exhaustion, we moved on to communal tanka poetry. Good times were had, even if we were half asleep by then.
In retrospect, June went by in a flash. Moving into my new place, beginning work, getting to terms with early awakenings, early bedtimes and reacquainting myself with the concept of consequences to every action - even inaction - provided me with plenty to do. But all that was mostly just routine, things of diminuitive importance. Well, mostly anyway. The atonement for a slight and the humble beginning of a healing process was nothing insignificant, even if the forms it took were sometimes almost ridiculously macabre.
The most resonant, the most vivid thing, though, was her. A presence that suddenly filled my life with sights, sounds, thoughts, silly risks and excesses in gastronomy and sleep deprivation. It's amazing how easily the gray filter through which I had gotten used to sullenly glaring at existence was peeled off and put aside. (Though knowing my nature, it is still stored somewhere, should I ever need it again. Sort of like the old army boots with their soles broken in two that I stored away in case I ever got to sending them back to the factory for a refund or a new pair, which I didn't.) At times I wasn't quite sure whether I was awake or sleepwalking and not quite brave enough to pinch myself to find out. But it looks like I really didn't dream it all and that thought makes me so happy I could actually glow.
These have been interesting times. These have been good times. Here's to more of them.