It is the fifth day that I have been in my new home. I like it, but I can’t help but reflect on how odd it is just picking up and starting all over again. I have done this so many times it seems normal, but it still strikes me as strange. Moving is considered one of the most stressful events in a person’s life. Along with death, divorce, birth, and marriage moving falls into those same categories of living stresses, and I have done it so many times I can’t even count it on my phalanges. It does feel like every time I am starting all over again, unfortunately, I keep carrying the same crap, metaphorically, if you know what I mean.
I’ve been spending the days, in between hours of working, exploring my neighborhood. I go on long walks in the morning at a park that is nearby. It is a decent size and generally there is only one or two people in the park at the time so it’s just me, the squirrels, spiders, and some birds. I often wish I had been a scientist as I like to watch and figure out what it is that the animals are doing through out their day. I stood and watched this squirrel carry a huge green walnut, two times the size of his head, in his mouth up to a tree branch, and then he just ate away at it. He was sawing through the nut like he was diving into a watermelon, holding it just like a watermelon as a matter of fact, with his little clawed paws holding the base of the nut. As he chewed he blew bits of the nut all over just shooting out chunks like an erratic wood chipper. After eating he did some little call, and a predatory dance, whipping his tale like a cobra, then stared at me staring at him. I picked up some of the carnage he left on the ground. It was wet from his saliva and little grooves from his teeth were shaved into the flesh of the nut. I realize that none of this is very important, but for those few moments I was riveted. You should have seen my awe at watching a spider spin it’s web moving from one gossamer thread to the other like he was crocheting, his front two legs clicking together like needles made of bone. Yes, this is what I do with my mornings. It all makes me miss being a kid because you never questioned moments like these, as a kid you just sat in awe watching the world work around you, you didn’t have those voices saying: this is stupid or a waste of time you should be doing something, god dammit be productive. I used to be able to sit for hours and watch this life happening. Now I get all judgemental on myself, Shhhheeett.
My room has all these great built-ins, and I have a view of a garden, and the neighbor’s house which is pretty damn nice. My room used to belong to a kid and you can tell. The ceiling is covered with glow in the dark stars, and every night I want to thank that kid for leaving me such a nice gift. The room has been bringing me strange dreams though or maybe just the place I am in my life is bringing me strange dreams. I keep thinking about so many of the shows I saw while I was on tour, and I feel like for the next few blog posts I should expound on some of those performance experiences. I’m hoping that I can draw some of that artist’s life back into me. I have only been back in Portland for a few weeks, but already it feels as if months have passed and the old ruts are waiting for me to set my feet in the same grooves and I really don’t want to do that. I need to work on mentally immersing myself in the type of life style and work I want. It’s a start.
…and the new space is nice.