I can't believe last summer is already last summer. I can't believe how the fall made such a guest a appearance of a life. I'm thinking about how sudden my old room was evacuated after summer called it quits. It was filled quickly with a new dream and new art now hangs on the walls that I painted last Spring with my now ex-girlfriend. I live in the basement now where I sleep on a smaller mattress lower to the ground, more like in the first room away from home that I lived in. And I don't mind that my room has no windows or that ceiling directly above my bed is unfinished. You can see some kind of piping through the crack. It hangs above me now as I type this. I don't mind it. What I do mind is that I've been living in this cave for 3 months now and I still haven't gotten around to making it my own. Books and records lay unorganized, unloved on the ground. The walls are barren, except for one Marc Chaggal painting that I've had for years now. Last week I got a new job now with better pay and more tolerable hours, but I still haven't managed to shake my old debts. They've compressed and fill me up with anxiety every night and morning that I don't fall asleep with next Summer on my mind. On a higher note, some friendships have solidified. Some have softened and fallen through the cracks. I only see those folks on party day now. The others have become family. My family is real.
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