What It Is

Well, I'm less in a state of overdrive now than an anti sleep.  Amazing how the body adjusts to regularity so much that, even on a day when you're "allowed" to sleep in, you wake up almost to the minute as you would on a day filled with activities that necessitate such early rising.  So, I've got the half zombified trance like feeling of a Saturday morning that should evince the coffee making function deep in my automated response system and at the same time I should go back to bed for a few.  All terribly important, I know you're thinking, or feeling, too.  I should go outside, take a walk. It is a time like this that living in a nice Brooklyn neighborhood like Park slope near Prospect Park.

There's the armory there.  I used to live close by the neighborhood.  Close enough that I could wake up in the morning and go for a walk to see all sorts of people on the way to achieve some kind of carbohydrate caffeine blend in my blood.  And now that I'm starting to bogglingly reminisce, something new for me, and a bit awkward, I'm sorry, I'll tell you that I lived there less than a year ago, when, as a testament to my deeply unfortunate circumstances, my room-mate started a relatively serious fire in the apartment, forcing a move.  That was December 2, 2009.  A "three alarm" fire as they said.  A lot of my stuff was okay, just, you know, completely blackened and stinking (okay, so it wasn't exactly suitable, and I left most of it there, grabbing the essentials that I could). I don't plan on organizing my thoughts or feelings associated with the one year anniversary, but then again, I'm not sure that I can, or should.  Maybe the best way to let it be is to just let it be, endlessly echoed into a dimmer and dimmer switch in my head until I stop hearing it.

Alright, you want a picture? Fine, me neither. Here:

It's not that I'm nostalgic, per se.  Just a saturday morning in a less popping neighborhood in Queens.  I'm still around, though, and that, I'm determined to decide, does matter.  That should be the lesson.