|The last of John's mom's strawberries.|
I am fairly certain that it is a truth universally acknowledged that moving is not a high priority activity on a mild summer day, particularly after several dog’s mouth days (no insults to canines intended). I’ve been quite desultory in getting the rest of my things packed and myself decamped to 8th Avenue. Transitions are always a pain. I am so enjoying the air (currently outside at 7:35 pm with Emmylou wandering down the driveway) and the sounds of the birds. Truth be told, I could do without the traffic, but if I am to be back in Brooklyn, such is the environment.
I’m not depressed, really, just kind of affectless. All I want to do is nap and/or read and I quite sure that more than a few of you will be wondering how that is any different than any other time in my life. Finished the Sylvia Plath book and am now almost finished with the memoir, Love Lessons: A Wartime Journal by Joan Wyndham. Quick, moving, and diverting. Oh, and quite short.
I did get to Trader Joe’s to do shopping (and discovered, as I am a) broke and b) preparing to leave that, a Fairway Market is opening nearby), my laundry is on the line, and I have been thinking about what to pack to keep close and what to put into storage. But as I don’t know where I am going for how long it is a bit of a challenge. Things are becoming clearer, though. Hard to tell if I am processing or procrastinating or both. I suppose they are not mutually exclusive.
I’m sitting under the pine tree that Emmylou likes due to the birds above. Sometimes, she sits on the ground next to me, sometimes she sleeps on the picnic table under the grape arbor, but now I think she is wandering and I should go fetch her. She will miss access to the out of doors, as will I. I can always go to Prospect Park, but Emmy will have to be content with hanging on the fire escape with Melinda.
Emmylou comes running across the yard as a well-behaved pet, but generally unlike a cat.
It's hard to leave here, where I have been safe and comfortable. I had some good times in my six months here. The last few weeks have been very challenging, but my feelings are mostly ... well ... sad is too much ... maybe wistful? A new routine and a new reality are here and I must adjust, if not embrace.