coming, going, and...staying
Life feels really weird lately, as tho I'm at the beach, in the water facing my friends on the shore, and there's that sucking-backwards sensation around my ankles suggesting a big wave is about to crash against my back.
Don't think tsunami, but maybe just a bit of a surprise. I feel like life is about to leap on me, and it's not a bad feeling--just this suspended sense of waiting. The universe holding its breath.
I'd ask someone to read my horoscope, but the only person who could with authority has left the city.
That's one of the weird things, lately. Seems like everyone I know is moving in or moving out.
Joe told me he has to move soon--his building, downtown, is doing renovations.
Normal moved last week into a beautiful new stand-alone apartment, with an upstairs, balconies, wooden floors and a spirally starcase. It's located in a wonderful neighborhood within walking distance of everything. Bitch. ;)
Paul moved a while ago. He's settling in now. The art on his walls is breeding.
Cheney left the city like a whirlwind just two nights ago, chasing love and hope and dreams. I hope he finds every one.
Jaylinn moved into a fantastic new place about two weeks ago, the very place I drove past months ago and thought, "What a nice place. I wish it were for rent." I couldn't afford it anyway. Her home already feels magical and safe.
Ben is planning on leaving in three months. I expect I'll wake one day to find he's left before dawn, racing away from the sunrise, leaving a carefully printed card behind that says "Ben Simpson--Traveling"--and then all I'll be able to be sure of is that someone somewhere, possibly trekking across the Himalayas, knows me so very very well.
It appears that Kelsey's move to Orange County has occurred seamlessly. She lives in a condo complex with her boyfriend and a dog. I don't think I could do that if I tried.
I'm going nowhere.
Every morning on the way to work I follow the curving ramps of the freeways like ribbons, the dotted lines strafing the ways out of this city. Every morning I see the mountains and something deep and low in my stomach lurches, hungry to gun the engine north, or east, across deserts and mountains. Lavender skies and silent diners at five a.m. Trains. The huge Etruscan stones of Italian hill towns.
I'm trapped by money. By the things I owe money to--my apartment, my car, my bills. By my job. And by the fact that traveling costs money. Moving, changing, it all costs. But I still feel life about to pounce.
When will the wave break?