Saturday, June 23, 2007

I rented an apartment on the 9th street hill, but I can't move in until after I come back from camp. It's really cute, and the landlord is something out of a book. After proudly telling me in detail the makings and workings of the air conditioning system and the plumbing, he then showed me a variety of unusually thoughtful features, such as a carbon monoxide detector and mail boxes large enough to receive packages. Then he went on to tell me about his church missions around the world, including an almost poetic recapitulation of Vietnamese farmers harvesting a rice crop. When he was describing my lease terms to me, he said he didn't care much about late rent, but was very adamant that I stay off the roof, which I thought was hilarious since my apartment is on the ground floor. He lives upstairs with his wife and a married couple lives in the basement. My apartment is on the front of the house and has a porch with a swing and little trees in the front yard and a very homey feeling to it. There are mirrors everywhere, which is a little bizarre, but I'm vain anyway.

Now that my mom's sold her house, I'm having a hard time accepting that she lives in Virginia. When she was in town right before the closing, I slept in her bed with her, and it was like being a little kid again. I felt so comfortable and happy. I got to go to dinner with her and talk in restaurants all night like we did when I was a teenager. The absence of this is bothering me for the first time since she moved. This feeling is coupled with the fact that I don't really have a home right now, and am technically living in my art studio with heat and bugs and no bed. I drive to see Dan and sleep with him more than I can actually afford to justify. I feel lonely constantly, even though my art studio is "my space", it's stark and open and strange at night. It's been months since I've had a "home" per se. Sometimes when I get off work at night, I get so depressed about not being able to go home to a bed and a cat and a refrigerator full of goat cheese and apples and comfort, and I call Dan crying about how confused I am about my life and sit in a bar and drink until I can pass out on my studio couch.

But life is yet happy because it's summer and almost blueberry picking time. And I made a salad with mandarin oranges, tarragon, goat cheese and honeyed walnuts.