Lift up your weary heart.
Halloween is almost upon us.
I am so glad.
I have carved 9 gourds and one full-size pumpkin (the neighbors adjacent to me AKA the hot neighbor and his loftmate also carved pumpkins).
I don't have a costume.
I mean, I have a gazillion costumes but I don't know what I want to be yet for sure.
I am thinking a witch.
A witch with curly hair and boy entrancers.
We'll see.
It is still brutally hot and sticky. I cannot wait for cooler weather and jackets and scarves and maybe my mittens. Probably not. My boots.
I dreamt yesterday afternoon that we had moved to Michigan and I found Cabal and took him in as my own dog. He was lovely and loving. In the dream our house was bigger than I know it to be and the weather was wonderful. I don't know why I would dream of moving to Michigan as it is something I have been trying my damnedest not to do since I was seven years old.
My dad is there now. Hunting with his dogs. It's weird to think about he and I living alone and my mom and brothers living together. I love living by myself and my dad loves being in Michigan and my mom loves not having to clean up after my dad and the dogs. It works well, this separateness.
Despite the humidity and warmth of the past few days I still fancy I can smell fall, though that may be the scent of pumpkin seeds toasting and cinnamon tealites. In a synesthetic sense, the feel and smell and taste of autumn and winter for me is Sufjan Stevens. I think this is because I first started listening to him whilst spending hours in my room at our vacation home staring out the window at the snow falling.
I haven't been to Michigan in a few years and I was really looking forward to spending Thanksgiving up there this year with my family (something else I haven't done in a few years: spend a holiday with my family) but my mom decided that she and I would not be going. Instead I will be going with my very best friend to Miami which is nice because, although I have not been to Michigan in a few years, I have not been to Miami in ten years and last time I went I was blind so I doubt it counts.
Still I have been thinking about Michigan a lot lately. And of Buchia. I have been recalling Buchia's house on Shamrock Drive. I loved that house even when I was little and terrified of the basement. I miss the back room with the cacti and the photos of my cousins and the swing in the backyard my grandfather built. I remember the china dolls and old fashioned phone and the numerous hummingbird themed things. I recall the smell. It was always nice to visit Buchia. It was even nicer to visit her at her vacation house in Lewiston. That house was amazing. I remember the huge panda bear that sat on the stairs and the dock and the stones on the shore of the lake that I was positively convinced were dinosaur eggs. I remember riding jet skis with Becky and Jay-Jay. I remember the summer I learned they weren't coming to visit because their house had burned down.
I really miss cold, cold weather and being a little kid.
I am so glad.
I have carved 9 gourds and one full-size pumpkin (the neighbors adjacent to me AKA the hot neighbor and his loftmate also carved pumpkins).
I don't have a costume.
I mean, I have a gazillion costumes but I don't know what I want to be yet for sure.
I am thinking a witch.
A witch with curly hair and boy entrancers.
We'll see.
It is still brutally hot and sticky. I cannot wait for cooler weather and jackets and scarves and maybe my mittens. Probably not. My boots.
I dreamt yesterday afternoon that we had moved to Michigan and I found Cabal and took him in as my own dog. He was lovely and loving. In the dream our house was bigger than I know it to be and the weather was wonderful. I don't know why I would dream of moving to Michigan as it is something I have been trying my damnedest not to do since I was seven years old.
My dad is there now. Hunting with his dogs. It's weird to think about he and I living alone and my mom and brothers living together. I love living by myself and my dad loves being in Michigan and my mom loves not having to clean up after my dad and the dogs. It works well, this separateness.
Despite the humidity and warmth of the past few days I still fancy I can smell fall, though that may be the scent of pumpkin seeds toasting and cinnamon tealites. In a synesthetic sense, the feel and smell and taste of autumn and winter for me is Sufjan Stevens. I think this is because I first started listening to him whilst spending hours in my room at our vacation home staring out the window at the snow falling.
I haven't been to Michigan in a few years and I was really looking forward to spending Thanksgiving up there this year with my family (something else I haven't done in a few years: spend a holiday with my family) but my mom decided that she and I would not be going. Instead I will be going with my very best friend to Miami which is nice because, although I have not been to Michigan in a few years, I have not been to Miami in ten years and last time I went I was blind so I doubt it counts.
Still I have been thinking about Michigan a lot lately. And of Buchia. I have been recalling Buchia's house on Shamrock Drive. I loved that house even when I was little and terrified of the basement. I miss the back room with the cacti and the photos of my cousins and the swing in the backyard my grandfather built. I remember the china dolls and old fashioned phone and the numerous hummingbird themed things. I recall the smell. It was always nice to visit Buchia. It was even nicer to visit her at her vacation house in Lewiston. That house was amazing. I remember the huge panda bear that sat on the stairs and the dock and the stones on the shore of the lake that I was positively convinced were dinosaur eggs. I remember riding jet skis with Becky and Jay-Jay. I remember the summer I learned they weren't coming to visit because their house had burned down.
I really miss cold, cold weather and being a little kid.