Thursday, August 28, 2008

a written account of home

we live behind a pawn shop. people come and go, trading away their lives; selling what they need, in order to get by. getting by hasn't been so universally tough in such a long time. so now, that pawn shop, it sees a lot of action.

from the couch, i watch the cars pull in and out of its parking lot. the window framed by my bright green kitchen table (which is, incidentally, not in my kitchen) and the paper lantern that hangs above it. while in bangkok, i bought a hanging lamp with which to replace it. and while i'm a very intelligent person, i can't for the life of me figure out how to put the damn thing together. so, it sits in a pile on the bright green table, under the original lamp, waiting for someone who happens to stop by, to decide to put it together for me. people stop by all the time. it's nice.

the white-washed panel walls of our bedroom are lined with maps of all the places i have lived. points of interest highlighted, circled, summarized in my beautiful but messy hand-writing. my hands tremble, from an accident in a pool. buckley's bed sits beside ours, which is a joke, because i'm quite certain she's never actually slept in it. in all actuality, though, if she ever did, it would feel lonely in ours without her.

it was once pointed out to me that i like to bring the outdoors inside. i have birds flying across my living room wall, tree-lined 3-form hung beside the closet, big plants in every room, green patterns and framed furniture, and bird lights. even our wedding registry is full of nature themed and printed materials - serveware, artwork, bamboo. it's funny the things you never notice on your own.

our kitchen hutch always has an open bottle of wine on it. there is always coffee in the coffeemaker. and the fridge is littered with old postcards from friends, stuck with both clever and free magnets. my generations seems to have created an entire industry on the acid tongue of cleverness, sarcasm and wit. it's really undeniable. it's really everywhere we frequent. sometimes it's so jarring, we search for the sincerely fucked up, as opposed to the tongue-in-cheek.

there are books everywhere in our house. everywhere. in every room. on every surface. i value books. apart from photographs, they are the only things with which i just can't part. i value someone who cherishes the books they've read. i have, for a while now, refused to furnish my living room with a television. it seems an awful focal point. so, instead, our media cabinet is covered with lonely planet guides and my favorite novels. let's talk about books, not watch reruns of seinfeld we've seen a million times.

i say cabinet for a lack of a better word. i don't have large furniture. i hate large furniture. i like sleek, sightly, minimal and urban. i, of course, blew this to crap the other day when i acquired the biggest, comfiest, fluffy couch. now everything looks tiny. it's a bit awkward, but the couch really is so comfortable.

we have a walk-in closet, thank god. between the two of us, we could stock an entire vintage clothing store. it's excessive and disgusting; but one must be allowed their bad habits every now and again. it's so bad that, when scott first moved in, he had to immediately purchase a slew of closet organizers just so he could fit everything in our closet, which is bigger than most bathrooms. the perk is: i fit into most of his clothing, so my wardrobe just doubled.

every morning, he wakes up, walks the dog, watches the news. and then he leaves, just around the time i'm waking up to make coffee. every morning, like clockwork. we never close the blinds, so every morning we wake to the sun moreso than any alarm. mornings here are nice. we quietly go about our routines, like we've been doing it for decades.

every afternoon, buckley naps on the floor next to me, while i sit on the couch and write. she occasionally looks up, and i occasionally find myself staring off into space at that pawn shop. people come and go, trading in their lives. and we watch, creating and cementing our own life. everyone doing what they can to get by. and with the economy crashing, and getting by getting harder, i look around grateful. and i take in the surplus of huge changes that are abound. and i don't trade any of it, for all its worth.

i write and i write. i write about my trip and i write about my life. and i slowly figure it all out. and i realize that everything that has happened to me this year are the makings of something fantastic to come. i am about to sew some fucking gold.

1 comment:

Elizabeth said...

I've been reading your entries backwards. I always stop here, because it's my favorite. You really should write a book from your entries. Your life has already been infinitely more interesting and compelling that most Americans dream to be. That, and you're a damn good writer.

When are you going to be up my way next?