In my occum absence I've been thinking a lot about identity and movement, and how I'll be waking up at 5:30 for the next few weeks, including weekends.
I bought a new bed, did I tell you? This is part of my positive action to boldly get stuck, get interested, motivate, to insure, instill, and nest. The bed is huge, and I am adapting to its Queenish extra 6 inches, oh yes darlings, size does matter.
If you don't mind, I won't tell you how I got here, only that it took four cities, a dozen jobs, encouragement, loss, new friendships, plane tickets, and a credit card. These equations aren't the only testimony of me, but let's just get one thing straight. I am not a writer. I'd never say this to upset your infinite patience or pull the last thread you know of me. It's just that I am a carpenter, no really, I have a permanent dirty foot smudge in my shower. I just wanted to warn you, before you spend the night, or decide to go looking for me in discreet hiding places. I need to clear things up, I haven't been very vocal about everything. Trappings.
I live in San Francisco. People say I want to live else where, but just recently I decided here is good, and I'll stay, at least for now. You're staring at me with a welder's glance, I can feel it. A welder's glance is one out of the corner of your eye. It's with all intensity, but careful, as to not burn the center of your retina. I have been a stinker, but now I'll stop.