To the north of me, a beautiful storm is brewing over that portion of the valley. I wish it would blow in my way, drench my parking lot till the low spots are puddles, and pour and pour until everything is washed and new again.
That would be nice. That could cleanse things again. And I could stop waiting out on my porch for such things.
The storm never came, so I instead made the greatest decision I've made in a while: I moved the couch to the balcony of my apartment building. Though I sometimes feel I'm somehow invading the privacy of my neighbors by bringing myself so permanently into the open, they're outdoorsy people too, so I'm sure they'll be okay with it.
It's awkward for me too, this being so exposed to the world, but since this couch isn't exactly a scrumping couch—as the great Marcie Glad would call it (scrumping actually refers to a whole host of activities, including menial tasks such as walking along at a slow pace and more intense tasks such as punching someone with all the force of your soul. It's a versatile word, really.)—I think spending my time reading and writing out here will be good exposure for my soul.
My friend came to help me move the couch. When he asked if there was anything else he could do, I told him that since we've been struggling with similar things as of late, he could come and talk to me more, since it makes me feel less alone and crazy. His response cheered me greatly: "You're not alone. There are at least 3 of us crazy people out there in the world." Bless your heart, good sir, bless your heart.
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| My balcony, pre-couch |
If it were raining, I'd use this:
