And so I return from my adventures.
Sounds like something the ancients or Tolkien would have written. Quotes about wandering, drifting into references in Oz, on what we wanted was here all along.
I spent the month of March and the first week of April getting acclimated to a change of residence; same sorry town, just on the other side of a body of water. There are more options for sidewalks on this side of the water, but also a more industrialized/commercialized look. In other words, we went from living in a frat house to living in a mall. This side, so far, is greener, and the living space is cooler. I had missed green around me something awful, so I’m grateful for that, and this space is quieter. And yet, it’s still miles from anywhere, the opposite of a cafe culture. But I’m acclimating as best I can until the next tide comes in.
Until that tide…I’m working on the novel again and preparing for a brief shore leave north.
Speaking of tides…in general, what’s your level of optimism? Mine has developed into belligerent shading of the word. I’m not a Pollyanna, but I’ve nearly had it with “you can’t fight City Hall” or, as Lorde likes to sing, “I’m kind of over getting told to throw my hands up in the air/So there.” (Yes, I know, she meant something else, but it seems to fit.) Strangely enough, if left alone to solitude in the realm of meet-space, my mother’s inheritance wins over and I can be as optimistic as Pooh Bear and Piglet, but if you put me with comp’ny I’ll shut down into silence or drift into my father’s Eeyore-ism. I can’t be brave in the face of shoulder-chip wearers.
Until this week. These things can happen if you’re tired of being the scapegoat at work, tired of settling for what your age and your station seem to determine for everyone else, and now I’m just stubbornly optimistic. It’s a revolt on my part. If someone else proves more optimistic, or uplifting, I’ll defer them the title.
A very happy Saturday to you, then.
Slow Readings 