house hungry

Scott is in Iowa visiting his brother. I thought about going since his brother lives only a few hours away from my grandmother and he said we could take a day to visit her. But I would miss a test and at least 2 classes and I didn't want to do that this early in the semester.

To tell the truth, I was looking forward to being alone. I miss living alone. I miss having my own space, my own schedule without having to check with someone else. I thought after 2 years of living with him, that I would adjust, but I haven't. I still lust after my friends who have their own places. I still wake up in the morning, my brain foggy as I lay there running through what I need to do that day: check this month's contract expirations, get my mail, I should swing by the apt to check on things.... oh, I don't have an apt anymore. Then I'm sad about it the rest of the morning. This is about a once a week event.

Sometimes at night when I close my eyes for the brief moment before sleep claims me, I feel like I'm in my old apt. Facing the wall, facing the door, seeing my ceiling. If I think hard enough, I can even remember what it smells like. The first time I turn on the heat in the fall, when I come back after a weekend away, when I steam up the bathroom for a candlelit bubblebath.

I miss it. So much so that earlier this year, I picked up an apt guide and called around for pet policies. I still pick up the real estate books and circle the houses I like.

I know if I buy a house Scott will probably break up with me. I asked him if we'd survive me moving out. He didn't think so. But he doesn't want to marry me unless I change. Change my religion, change my friends, change my name, I doubt if the list stops there.

I'm tired of driving 25 miles to work one way. I miss Edmond, I miss the northside.

Everytime I'm on the phone with my dad he askes if I've been out looking at houses. Have you called a realtor? You know we have some money set aside to help you. Whenever you're ready, it's there, just say the word.

The housing market is slowing a bit around here. I picked up a real estate booklet for the first time in several months and it was thicker than it has been in the past.

I just need to get off my ass. There really isn't two ways about it.

Watching: Miami Ink
reading: Sarum
Whiskey is: finally settling down

5-7-5

So, in a moment of insanity, (I have those often, daily in fact, hardly remember them, but for some reason this one stuck with me), I decided to write heiku. Not a poem or two, but dozens, hundreds in fact. Specifically, 366 heiku poems about whatever, not necessarily nature. My insane ass plan was to self publish a little book(let) of my insane ass heikus (heiki) for 2008 to celebrate, in some insane ass way, the leap year, summer olypmics and the end of terror our current prezitwit.

Quite ambitious don't you think?

Most of my moments of insanity quickly arrive, quietly pass and life goes on. I thought this one would too, but after a few hours it was as annoying as a cold wet cat nose in your ear at 3 in the morning. The annoyance became an obession. Yes! I'll write heikus. And they will be profound, pithy, simple, elegant, humorous and abundant. Yes! Heikus as far as the eye can see!

So I dug around and found a little spiral notebook. So, there it was, a blank virgin piece of paper. I was slapped sane as soon as I folded back the front cover. What the fuck do I think I'm doing? 366 of them? That's a stupid number. It's a stupid idea.

So why am I now, five months later still writing heikus?