Gray drizzle on a Sunday evening and my feet hurt. When I open the door to Highland there's only the B and the dog to greet me and right now both are sleeping downstairs. I'm not even tan. Welcome to June, Steena.
Right after (or as) Jeano left I rearranged the living room to make it look as if you could still live in it. There's not a kitchen table left, but that's okay; it removes any pretense I had of reading while eating instead of watching Law and Order. If I were staying longer than July I'd find something to fill in the kitchen or line the floor with newspaper to absorb the echoes, but I'm not, and the echoes remind me that I need to get my own shit together and move. It was a weird weekend, though. Thursday night I had Darren sleeping in my bed and work people scattered throughout the house and for a second before I passed out at five in the morning it felt right again in Highland.
I went outside just now and cut the rest of the peonies from the front bush, shook off the ants, and brought them in. They'll die in a few days anyway, but in the meantime they can cheer me up. Tomorrow I have to cut the last BER apron string and get started on selling my car. There's something about all of this that is overwhelming.
If last Sunday found me wanting to go out and act American!, then tonight I'm reverting to high school girl. Whatever and Ever Amen is playing, wrote this blog, going to dye my hair, and I'm making phone calls. Pick up.
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(ed. note: CAB just emailed me a prelim sketch of a tranny holding a lamb for the B's book cover. It's not even finished and it rocks. This is helping.)
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