September 23, 2012
I laid beneath yawning covers all afternoon, too tired and apologetic to open the window or light a candle. I moved into this new house yesterday, and hung the last of my paintings on the thin walls around 4 this morning. This house is a steep half mile up a road that has a nursing home name. The view from my desk is parallel a postcard mountain skyline; the colors of the air stretched out like ascending banners between the rivets of peaks. My room is a cocoon, but big enough for my bed, books, easel and a graying deer skull and winebottles full of feathers. Across the bathroom is Logan. Downstairs are Joey and Nate and scraggly comfy couches and a big kitchen and a wrap around porch. In the basement is Thomas and a 7-foot sheet of butcher paper waiting for a mural and band practice. My brothers like acoustic guitar and sail-boating and making canoes. These guys are in a metal band. I think that we'll get along nicely. And they already like my cross-eyed cat.