Updates of No Particular Importance

Im sitting in the car waiting for school to get out. The rain is pounding down on the windshield and the colorful leaves look like an oil painting against an unfinished canvas. The sky a terrifying white of potential, and yet all I can think about is I miss this place or rather, that place. It’s been almost two months, not quite, and to a certain extent I’ve settled into something, but I think it’s myself and not this place. I’ve exchanged life on a large rocky island in the North Atlantic for the equivalent of a pebble in the Mid-Atlantic.

The first thing I secured upon landing was a library card and after spending more days then I can count going to the DMV I finally obtained a temporary new license along with my voter registration card. I wrote a dissertation chapter. Ive read eleven books. Ive cleaned, and organized, and bought too many books. Ive tried to find a rhythm, my own movement but I think i stumbled into jazz improve and I just can’t figure it out.

Ive definitely caught a bout of melancholy, possibly leftover from all those gilded aged ghosts floating down from the north shore or the copious amount of writers who summered in any one of these boring Americana-esque villages that are now overpriced nothing towns filled with Air BnBs and Amazon trucks.

I’ve written a lot. Words have flowed out of me like the inlet I see every morning when I wake up. I have a binder of writing all in various stages of edits for potential submissions but they feel lonely, and honestly I feel lonely. I’ve also read a lot, and though I’d love to share more of my words, and I do plan to share so much of them anything I post on my blog is considered a published piece of writing, even if no one but me reads it, and so it becomes exempt from publication. So the pieces that feel like the seagulls that seem to hover in the air go here. Aerodynamic acrobats to stubborn to fly to scared to land.