We’ve left (briefly) for the coast.
Today, I framed three silk screened prints I’ve had since sometime around 2007. And I thought about how everything I own is bound up with so many memories. And then about how many of those memories are not great. Have I lived a good life, though? Is that what I am doing, now?
Things are their own addiction. I have too many things in the room I’m using as an office. It is supposed to also be a room to meditate in and sit and knit, but I almost tripped over my foot stool backwards, because there is only a couple of feet of empty floor. It is a very small room to have three desks in it, and yet I want very much to sew things. I want an orderly, accessible storage place for yarn and sewing stuff. I also want an office with all my books on shelves. I want. I want. I want.
I can smell the ocean but we are too far to walk to it. That’s tough, but it’s not terrible, obviously.
M won me a stuffed goat in the claw machine on the way here, right after buying me the second fleece dress, so that I can totally old-lady out. He’s a keeper.