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Week 2.5 of the "Great Granny Migration".
Things are tense. That's what living with a manipulative, viciously passive-aggressive senior citizen (against their will) does to someone.
Surviving that so far, work stopped swaying so much, for now.
It's good to not sway.
I went through my old texts tonight and deleted a fair slug.
I didn't delete a single one from you.
Even out of context, fragmented, and half a year old- it felt good to see your words, and pretend for a moment that you could be reached.
There wasn't a great deal of yearning and agonizing, it was warmth.
Something like happy.
Maybe for the rest of the night.
I've been spending as much time with my brother as I can. His life is still quite the clusterfuck, or maybe something that rhymes with life.
Getting out hasn't been working out so great.
I still have good days and bad. Universe falling on my head one day, getting coffee the next.
It seems to be easier when I'm by myself, or with Clover.
Sometimes we go out and pick mushrooms (to look at) and talk to the neighborhood cats. One very much wants to be ours, and if I catch her by the scruff of her neck some day I'm taking her to the shelter.
I don't even like cats, they're snooty and generally lack personality, but this one thinks she's a dog.
So I'll take her somewhere that can have confused, skinny dog-cats.
There's land.
It isn't perfect yet.
And it occasionally brushes against my fingertips within reach of budget.
Then something usually comes up, like new tires, or a kidney transplant, but I think this time next month I'll be talking to lawyers, and bankers.
Two of my favourite kinds of people.
And maybe I'll have some wet, green firmament to lay down on,
and pretend I'm home.
It will be place, but somewhat lacking as home.
Not without back porch cigarettes, and sheets crumpled in a heap.
