exhale slowly; grin a little.
��������� �����quickly:thank you, patricia (pronounced "pa-treesh-ee-ah") from dell, for helping me to fix my poor, battered computer.
now it is happy and healthy. people are moved back in. classes start tomorrow - today - at 8am. the dangerous frailty of unsettlement -
jason and nate are across the hall. casey erin and jill are two floors down. kristin and ashley are one floor down, next to rachel and sarah. mia lives down the hall from them. you may remember mia from my entry regarding the silver lining.
the soundtrack is pale, lovely folk music. from the samples to aimee mann to dar williams to eva cassidy, to mike doughty and a random episode of black adder.
a comfortable, library-ambience glow to the room, due to the influence of corey's antique lamps and huge, black cushioned futon. books abound, and i need another shelf for them and my massive DVD collection. many to-dos, post-its litter the walls of my brain. have to start working immediately.
old afghan on the bed, stealthily taken from home: it adds that touch of familiarity. remembering being wrapped up in when i was sick and home from school on the couch. an enveloping sense of comfort, this dim glow, this big desk space for spread-out papers and frustrated elbows. posters hung up on the wall, and maybe some pictures on that cork board soon. i need familiar faces.
familiar is the word of the night. at sixty-one degrees, gorham luxuriates in the space between summer & autumn. a solitary fly is the shifting ink blot on the eggshell white wall.
sighs of release, relief, and repeating. we're juniors. and seniors. the older kids. terrifying, and beautiful all at once. moving up surely. a more sensible direction, goal-oriented and intrigued. pangs of the old self-unsurety earlier this night, but most of it has faded with the help of the computer being back online. with the help of an amazing room and people surrounding.
soundtrack is eva cassidy. "fields of gold," of course. voice like honey painting the walls and dripping beautiful. the lingering ache of satisfaction in my arms from helping everyone move. exhale.