new home

We got it. We have a place to live, its a beautifully renovated home on Pine Street, and Ben and I will be living there. Alone. Sans roommates. (for now) There was quite a bit of stress involved in its acquisition, but thanks to some incredible kindness, we'll be able to live in peace and quiet, and hopefully spend the next year (at least) starting to build our life together, on our own.

There's a little more room than we know what to do with, but for now it will allow both of us to finally get 'settled' and pursue some projects we've been wanting to work on for quite some time now.

We're moving on to a house that we feel more obligated to care for, since the care put into it is so evident already. To a situation where we can coexist as two, without an extra, dependent personality popping in and out.

Here's to the next act in the play, if only defined by a change of scenery.

I'll take it.

the hunt

We've been looking for a house for about a month now. We decided many months ago that the house we are in just isn't going to work anymore. There were some issues with repairs, the size of the house is prohibitive to.. well, just about every day to day activity, the neighborhood has hit a slight downturn, and most of all, there are just sour feelings and bad memories from this house as a result of some "personnel problems." I'll leave it at that.

To be able to start over completely, in a house that has been cared for and repaired, with good feelings and a sense of security is an incredible feeling. My job is secure now (and may be becoming even more secure in the coming weeks, but I won't get into that just yet) and we don't have to live in fear month to month about where the money will come from to pay the bills.

The application went out today. Every i dotted, every t crossed, registered mail to our prospective landlords (who are very cool people). I'm hoping. I shouldn't, but I am.

Why

I've been writing for years, since as long as I can remember, on various surfaces, with various media. Rarely with any regularity, but when the time is right I don't stop until a pen is in my hand and the thought is expressed. For many years it was an almost feverish urge that hit me at all hours of the day, every day. But then I stopped, for some reason, the many books that I had filled stayed in their neat, orderly pile, and I found myself with empty hands and for the most part, a relatively empty mind. The day to day thoughts were all that were swimming around in my mind, not the rich, complex menagerie that results in pages of scribbled prose.

Over the last few years I've chosen not to record moments of my life, for my benefit or anyone else's, out of a sort of disdain for vanity and self-aggrandizing. For the most part I stopped taking photographs as well, thinking that if no one ever saw them, I might as well not bother taking them. But I realized over the course of the last few months that this style of expression doesn't need to be epic. It can be small, simple and clean, concise groupings of words or a single photograph to express a simple sentiment that I might want to come back to at some point in my life. Maybe my friends, family or maybe a total stranger might stumble upon this. Maybe not. I think of this as less of a journal or an autobiography and more as a bulletin board, when I can pin the moments I collect out of everyday life to create a landscape of the ordinary, the decidedly un-epic. The everyday.

I'm not a scholar, I'm not a celebrity, I'm not a person of note, an academic, someone you might know or like to get to know. I'm a thinker, and I have two hands that help me remember these thoughts.

Read at will.