Oh my. How things change.

I'm still not sleeping...

The days are growing over the nights like ivy on a hot brick wall. Soon, autumn will brown and whither the vines, their regal trident leaves. Night's appendages will rip up the sunwashed earth, shatter the light and seep into every orifice of day.

I haven't been writing/talking to myself as much lately. And, I confess, these thoughts are recycled. I've gathered all my bescribbled receipts and bookmarks and other writing surfaces in the hope of collecting myself. I'm going to type them up, but they mayn't make much sense. Bart gave me a notebook. That should help a bit.

I've had a lot of company and lots of movement these days. My summer is going just splendidly. I've gotten in touch with old friends and met some wonderful new ones. work is not at all overwhelming, but I'm worried about stocking up product for the fall season. I've moved in with Jordan, and we talk about books and women, among other things. Living with him reminds me of our childhood, when it was just the two of us having adventures and catching lizards. I think that back then we were a little better nourished. Jordan survives on tuna melts, chimichangas, empty pie crusts, waffles, and pumpkin pie. He works at Cash and Carry, so it is not unlikely to find a gigantic tub of ice cream or a box of microwave burritos in the freezer. I try to make do with my busy life. I mostly drink tea and eat bagels or cook, when I have time. Groceries are scarce, mostly due to the fact that I usually don't have time to shop.

I like it here, though, I think I'll stay: sleeping on a grass mat on rented floor;
waking to watch the sun bloom on the old deck or the dew drops clinging to spruce needles;
writing my thoughts on borrowed paper with a borrowed pen, a collection of negative space and books surrounding me like woolly insulation; exhausting thought and breath; the morning light a soft, pale blue; the warmth of the night; a library of smells in the cupboard; years of thought on printed page; the bestial walls of the bathroom, and boxes. Boxes, boxes and boxes. Bouncing memory back and forth like a rubber ball. Like four-square that one fateful year of Christian school. On lazy mornings I have time to think, to breathe, to organize my closet. Wild creativity grows over this place like jungle vines as the next season gleefully asserts itself.

Things happened, minds changed and mine decided not to travel this summer. To my relief, actually. I'm glad to have one more leisurely month in Washington before school starts. I've really enjoyed the time I have spent here.