Saturday, June 30, 2007

Good-Bye, Hello

West Cliff
what I will be leaving

I have had the the itch to move away from Flip Flop for years. Most of the time I can ignore it, or I can remind myself about the lovable qualities of my present situation (they are legion-- ample parking, proximity to freeways and beaches, friendly, small-town people, great weather, big kitchen, rocking parties).

Yesterday these all seemed like good reasons for staying until I woke up and found myself on the H's couch, fighting consciousness and thinking that the positive things keeping me here are mostly ephemeral; people (who might move on) and the beautiful land (there are other beautiful places). Its not like I have a real job here, or kids in the school. My work always seems to be elsewhere. My lovely housing situation could could change at any moment (the landlords could evict us or a housemate could move away). I had plenty of perfectly suffocating things keeping me here-- inertia, the fear of changes, the fear of culling my collections and the fear of causing others inconvenience. I have been here in this house for nearly five years. That suddenly seems like long enough.

I don't know where I'll be in August. I'll keep you posted.

3 comments:

H said...

I hear ya. You know what you need to do. And don't let that piano stand in your way.

John B. said...

Just be sure to take us with you.

The Molly said...

To my Numero-Uno Roomie:
You are the Key-lime Pie of my existence for the last 3 years! You are my Rodeo Sweetheart! We sing the ballad of 327 Market we have rode the ruckus of this kickin home and made it Ours like a Peanut's Lunchbox.

Don't forget the chronic gabs of guests and evenings spent by warm glow of the computerlight. Don't forget the sounds of womens and the sights of Molly naked across the hall or in her undies.

Don't forget the places we tromped in our little neighborhood and the little polaroid-pictures we took of mailboxes, don't forget the designed-corners we make-shifted in the 327 with splattered fabric and Boas, with mirrors and reversable paintings, and with signed-photos of Johnny Dep.

Come peek at my ballads.

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