Friday night update: I’m adjusting to living someplace where the people are kind, life is slower, and I can stop to look at creeks–and the ocean, always the ocean. I spaced at a grocery store and a woman said something. I apologized and she answered:
Goodness, hon, everybody’s entitled to a moment of reflection.
May I never get too used to that, and always appreciate the kindness of strangers.
When my blog was down, pages vanished. They contained blogrings, Technorati and stuff. The only one I care about is Darfur as it’s worth caring about. Everything else–a blog is just a blog. I admit I used to find stats endlessly fascinating but I don’t anymore. I really don’t.
March 19–five years of war. If every American blogger stopped normal blogging for that day and wrote something about the war–just five years too many–we could begin a revolution
As the tension leaves my body, I’m truly incapable of thought
I’m trying to write fiction and am not capable of it now. So much is whirling through my mind, I’m numb.
There’s a major scandal in New York, and I feel detached from Mr. Holier Than Thou, and all New York news. I suppose that’s the true test or is it too early to tell? I feel sad that I can’t feel sad for him, but when one sets himself up as a morality policeman one should be better than.
It was the fourth item on the Horry County local news Monday night. Right after the Peeping Tom who is bothering two old ladies. I would move here, just to live in a county called Horry.
When I closed the apartment door, I didn’t look back. I thought I would stare at the apartment for at least a minute but I didn’t have the time or the want.
My screensaver is filled with pictures of my wall unit–the only thing I won’t be able to bring with me.
My apartment in New York is bare of most personal items. It’s a shell–but a very pretty one. Even my famed to some storage cage is set up so that everything can be easily moved. I give tours of the storage room; many New Yorkers dream of having a storage cage in their own building.
Now that my apartment is officially on the market, there’s nothing left for me to do, but wait.
I don’t quite feel free yet, but in limbo. I spent Monday compulsively reading the New York Times When the calls began to come in, as if I live somewhere I can’t get news, but can get phone calls, email, texts and IM’s, I already knew about the now former governor.
The knowledge that I can reinvent myself, be anybody I want to be who happens to look like me, is just beginning to sink in.
Last week I began a new life.
I really hope to be back in form by next week or the week after that. I’m not used to the slower pace. There’s a lot I’m not used to–calmness, cheaper prices, people who say hello to you, so much is different. I think I love it. I just don’t know if it was easier for me to be creative in a very distracting environment. And The New York Times isn’t loading. Maybe that’s a sign that I will have to begin reading local papers.