I did it.
I did everything. My to-do list is clean, except for the more bigger picture stuff that's fun and interesting anyway. I'm packed, and I just finished cleaning; I went boardover as usual, the place is spotless. I guess it's partly for the neighbors coming in and watching Mashkat--out of respect for them, to make it more pleasant; to make myself respectable, and to keep private and precious things tucked away... To know it'll be nice to come back to. To make it easier, when I have to do it again in two weeks.
I'm feeling boozy and woozy and very mortal... I used to globetrot without a second thought and now when I have to leave it feels like, it feels like the end of the world.
(That is because I live alone.)
I was overcome with emotion earlier, but now I've numbed myself, with nectar, with the mild sedatives my next door neighbor slid under the door. That's the neighbor that's watching my Mashkat. That's a good neighbor.
Now that I'm packed. Now that my boarding pass is printed. Now that the loose ends have been tied. Now I feel more at peace and I feel less at odds and I feel even and I know that this will be so good for me, get me away from myself, my work, my drive, this planet I live on. To see old friends doing normal people stuff, celebrating love and life and a sort of simplicity and yes a sort of richness that I-- maybe, am, lacking. A sort of wholeness a union. To be somewhere where all that glitters has nothing to do with me, where the spotlight and the sunlight will be gleaming off my lovely friend's hair, off her gown, off the wine glasses and the flowers and old church stone.
There's always music pumping my head and I've been writing and I was afraid of four days with a piano but.
It's just four days.
It's not the end of the world. And it's the beginning of a world. Not mine. Gratefully, graciously, humbly, not mine.
I did everything. My to-do list is clean, except for the more bigger picture stuff that's fun and interesting anyway. I'm packed, and I just finished cleaning; I went boardover as usual, the place is spotless. I guess it's partly for the neighbors coming in and watching Mashkat--out of respect for them, to make it more pleasant; to make myself respectable, and to keep private and precious things tucked away... To know it'll be nice to come back to. To make it easier, when I have to do it again in two weeks.
I'm feeling boozy and woozy and very mortal... I used to globetrot without a second thought and now when I have to leave it feels like, it feels like the end of the world.
(That is because I live alone.)
I was overcome with emotion earlier, but now I've numbed myself, with nectar, with the mild sedatives my next door neighbor slid under the door. That's the neighbor that's watching my Mashkat. That's a good neighbor.
Now that I'm packed. Now that my boarding pass is printed. Now that the loose ends have been tied. Now I feel more at peace and I feel less at odds and I feel even and I know that this will be so good for me, get me away from myself, my work, my drive, this planet I live on. To see old friends doing normal people stuff, celebrating love and life and a sort of simplicity and yes a sort of richness that I-- maybe, am, lacking. A sort of wholeness a union. To be somewhere where all that glitters has nothing to do with me, where the spotlight and the sunlight will be gleaming off my lovely friend's hair, off her gown, off the wine glasses and the flowers and old church stone.
There's always music pumping my head and I've been writing and I was afraid of four days with a piano but.
It's just four days.
It's not the end of the world. And it's the beginning of a world. Not mine. Gratefully, graciously, humbly, not mine.
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