It all started with a picture of a house

Well, I have a couch. Pat’s sister and I reassembled it last night and even in the air conditioning I was sweatin’ the sin outta me. Is this like a chemical imbalance sort of thing or has it just been 115 degrees for the past 4 days?
I’m broke. I’m tired. I saw my love for 8 hours and then he had to leave again. I’m not sure if it was better or worse to have the comfort of his body for such a short period. In 10 days he’ll be back and my goal is to make sense of the boxes, plastic bags, furniture, wires and bolts that make up a couple’s life. Somehow we are missing 3 (bolts that is) from the couch and my clothes are scattered in two locations and my heart is scattered in about 10. It’s all the moving gnats that begin to cluster, the list of small tasks that become one giant MOVE. Broken lights, oven racks, bus pass, garbage disposal, car registration, address change, UNPACK, not even the dishwasher is screwed in. And it’s fine. One thing at a time, except when all the things make you completely unsettled in a place you’re supposed to settle. Even zipping up a suitcase this morning seemed like too large a task.
I’m trying to stave off sadness – letting it crest, but fall back down and not over me. I’m trying not to think about all the people moving on from me because I’m moving on too except the way I’m wired makes me cling to the things that are never going to be the same again.
Is it strange to miss the way a house looks in the East already? To see a picture of a small girl running around a yard and want to be there? the wear against green grass? its thick skies? And when and if I leave this place will I miss the way cacti replace trees and stucco siding and sun rain? We spend so much time wanting to escape, we don’t realize we never can. And perhaps we shouldn’t. There is some baggage, like the warm, grainy water puddled after a storm, that we just jump into again.

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