The Pulse-Quick Trip of Quixotic Attention and Other Beginnings

I'm sitting in the cold of my 95% empty old home eating all of the microwave popcorn before I, officially, live in a home that is microwave-less.

Not that this was an aim.

It simply doesn't come with one and I can't justify buying one on any level, really.

A new rice cooker, however, I can justify.

[Thank you to Taising who gave me her old one roughly 15 years ago. It has made it this far, has no legs left on it, and periodically sparks. It has done its duty, and I have pressed my luck. The time has come to move on from it, although I feel like a burial or ceremony is in order: So many years of perfect rice.]

I am sitting in what was my living room.  The only things left: Four boxes, a pair of tennis shoes and one, unmatched slipper.  The air still smells of popcorn which, to me, always smells slightly of eggs and cardboard.

A lot happened here, but not too much.

One Christmas. One Halloween. One break up. One collage-making party. One "you-got-the-job!". One death.  (It didn't actually *happen* here, but, you get the point.)

Lots of hugs. Tears. Writing. Toast burnings. Laughter. Stencils made with faith put into a bathroom fan and a closed door. Baths. Laundry. Dinner. Decisions.


Decisions were made, here.


(pause)

There is something about this place that makes it easy to leave.

There's not too much to leave behind in these walls.

Not too much to ache for.

There are a handful of things.

There always are.

But not enough

to make me stay.

(image by Andrew Lyman via untrustyou Tumblr)