Notes from Home

I don’t want to move the television. I like it in the corner. It’s out of the way, and since it has a pointy, triangular shape, it fits well.

But the cable jack is on the other wall. So we will probably end up moving it to the wall that has both the entrance hallway and the hall to the bedrooms. Putting the television right in the path of traffic. It’s a good thing we don’t believe in Fung Shui.

Painting woodwork is hard when there’s nowhere on the floor to sit.

I wonder how a kid of little more than sixteen ended up driving that blue Mustang.

Speaking of driving, when it’s raining really hard in the morning, and it’s foggy and gray outside, and raining…hard, turn on your lights. Seriously. Especially if you’re in a gray SUV in front of a small old car that has trouble with the concept of de-fogging the windows. If you disappear because I can only see you when you brake, and I get too close, it’s not my fault for hitting you. Don’t worry, though, I try to be careful because with all the SUV’s around, I’m sure that neither me nor my car would survive such a confrontation.

I don’t want to put in a floor. I want it to magically appear, and then finally unpack all the things, especially the computer, that I kind of really need to use right now.

I am stupid for not putting my poetry in a place besides the computer, whose dismembered parts are scattered through several rooms right now.

I want my new appliances. The refrigerator has sticky rust-colored spots and kind of smells. The stove smokes. The dishwasher drowns out all other sound. Breathe. Sunday comes soon.

I have successfully found my way to both Borders and the local library in our new neighborhood. It is only a matter of time before I also know where other non-book-related things are.

I could do without:

Crickets.
Spiders.
Rust.

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