Cool with Clueless

Today it’s been one year.

One year ago today, I woke in the morning on my friend Bhavana’s floor, drove to Marks house to say goodbye, steered my car down Lakeshore blvd, pulled into one of the many empty parking places, dragged myself to the counter, smiled at the miracle of an empty line, ordered a triple grande soy latte, admired my freshly pedicured red toes, hopped back into my stuffed to overflowing beetle bug and headed south towards home. Other stuff happened too, but it would get wordy.

Today it’s been one year since I left California.

I’m listening to the Psychedelic Furs and sipping Well-Red, an organic red table wine that promises to be sulfite free. I’m drinking it because sulfites aren’t good for you, organic shit is good for you, well red is a double entendre, and because tomorrow I’m moving into my friends woman’s shelter to be a house monitor.

It’s 5:30 and the sky is blue and the clouds are pink, I turned off Pandora and I’m listening to my fingers tap-tap-tap.  Every now and then I stop tap-tap-ing to eat ceasar salad. I made the dressing from garlic, olive oil, lemons, and dijon mustard. I skipped the anchovy paste.  Tap-tap-tap….. Today after running a 5K with my work peeps, I came home and tried to nap, but the house down the road kept calling , so I rented a rug doctor and headed 2 miles north to clean the dark green carpet in my new room. It has a window that doesn’t open, the word “LOVE” painted on the bathroom sink in frosty pink nailpolish, a toilet that actually makes me shudder, and walls that are crying out in agony for a  fresh coat of paint. I had a moment of panic when I realized I hadn’t thought this through, so I called an iron-spined friend who talked me down, and then I got back to steaming. Tonite I’m sipping wine, ignoring the unpackedness of things, the knowledge  that unpackedness isn’t a word, and the absence of clues in my head.

It makes me nervous, the lack of clues, but only when I think about it, and what’s strange is I haven’t really been thinking about it.  I’m just doing the stuff I need to do to make the move, without much story telling. This is much different from the great California escape. Oh, the stories I told myself……I didn’t know then, and I don’t know now. But now I know that I don’t know, and then I didn’t know that I didn’t know.

I’m enjoying the freedom of not knowing, and watching my minds judgement, fear, and total lack of understanding about what is going on.  It’s trying to puzzle together an explanation for it’s hosts behavior,  but it’s failing, and in this failing is where surrender, wine, and random semi-sensicle blogging comes in. 

I made a commitment to live in a woman’s shelter for 3 months. I’m going to fill a bookcase for them with all of my favorite word smeared paper sandwiches, and I’m considering leaving the word “LOVE”  on the bathroom sink.

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