yesterday's calm became today's disquiet. hopefully i will write my blues until they turn pale. the dogs are sleeping. the house is still, except for the slight whir of the ceiling fan in my room, its chain swinging like a lasso above the pile of clean sheets i've yet to put on my bed. my mind feels unmade, too. maybe it's a coming down, of sorts, from the cupcakes and beer of last night. if it were cool, and safe, i'd take a long run outside. if i were in morgantown i'd drive to the lake and sit cross-legged on the edge of the water. i have tried to find water in memphis. sometimes i drive downtown to the river, looking for a spot to make mine. the mississippi is impersonal. may mark twain turn in his grave.
i miss morgantown. occasionally i verge on pining for it. it's because i'm here now, sitting at the better desk in the bigger house in the newer city i wanted, still wondering how or if it all makes a home. maybe remembering morgantown fondly is the ground i haven't yet found here; it's something to hold on to when i feel myself slipping.
people who say they never look back . . . it's because they don't have a past, they only have what has passed. they are fearful creatures. next time someone tells me to learn to let go, i'll tell them to learn to hold on.