The weekend comes and the weekend goes and the earth keeps turning. So many thoughts and so many stories come and go through my head. These War in Gaza updates were, are important but I miss being able to focus on my writing. Now with the faux ceasefire I’ll grab a few minutes here and there to try and spin a yarn or two.
The man I call abba is spending a few days away from home. It seems that the docs need to keep him in house for a spell to take of a few things. At the moment all seems well but I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t somewhat concerned. Told him that if he wanted to take a vacation there are better ways of doing it and places that are far more fun.
All sorts of work to be done around the house. There is painting to be done, gates to be fixed, things to be sorted through and attended to. I love my home, but there are moments where I miss the simplicity of the condo we lived in. Although if you really want to know I miss my first apartment the most.
It was in Encino just a hair south of Ventura Boulevard. It was an old building that had a bunch of issues, but it had a ton of a character. Just one bedroom, but it was all mine. It was a sanctuary and a refuge. It was filled with ugly furniture and god-awful wood paneling. The place was hot as hell during the summer and really cold in the winter, but it was mine.
Dishes in the sink, clothes on the floor, shoes in the middle of the room- all mine. Now just to be clear that wasn’t how I kept it. The clutter would have made me crazy. But there were a few times when I stumbled in after being out for a few days and was too tired to do much. No roommates to be pissed off at or to be irritated with me. No children to play role model for. So every now and then I’d just enjoy the freedom of not worrying about anything.
Had a crazy neighbor downstairs and several scattered around the building. We lived in a corner of the building so my apartment and the couple next to me both occupied a little space right about the crazy neighbor below.
The couple that lived on one side of me would have sex every night for hours. The squeaking of their bed never stopped. Crazy neighbor that lived directly below me used to go nuts about it. She was convinced that it was me. Most nights she’d take a broom or something and pound on my ceiling. That was in addition to complaining to whomever would listen that all I would do was have sex all night long.
Tried to convince her that it wasn’t me, but she never did believe me. I once asked her if she’d be willing to talk about it on camera. I figured that since I was single I might as well make use of it. For some odd reason she was irritated by that.
There are a lot of other stories tied into that building that I could and probably should share, but for now I’ll let it be.
Funny though how your memory works. That feels like it was yesterday, but when I think about it I realize that it might as well have been a thousand years ago. So much has happened since then.
Someone once told me that they used to like to think about what their life was like twenty years ago and to imagine what it would be like twenty years from now. It is easy to look back but much harder to look forward.
I have my suspicions about what things will look like, but who knows. I’ll be turning 60 and in theory my children will all be out of the house and living on their own. I can’t say much more than that. Too many variables, too many unknowns.
At least not today. Today I don’t think that I want to engage in any sort of projections about what is going to be. Besides, sometimes the best thing that you can do is focus upon the present.