And the future hangs over our heads and it moves with each current event

listening: bright eyes, land locked blues

I haven't planned this post at all, so forgive me if its language is overblown or its point unclear. I'm in the midst of a tiny revelation.

I went down the stairs twenty minutes ago to make myself some dinner - perogies and a Coke, because healthy eating is for regularly scheduled meals . I cooked with my copy of Shampoo Planet in my hand, noting places where regretfully, I can tell that Panic at the Disco borrowed lines to use as song titles. I rinsed the pot and its lid and put them in the drying rack, tucked my unopened Coke under my arm, carried my almost overflowing small brown bowl in my right hand and my open book in my left, and turned the kitchen light off. The kitchen light was the only one on in the house beside my bedside lamp, and its extinguishing left the hallway and stairs in a complete darkness. There is no one else in the house tonight, and the darkness was still - the only sound the distant cars on Whyte Avenue and the mumbling strains of Land Locked Blues from my bedroom. And I found the stairs without looking, feeling only with my feet - and they knew exactly where to go. 

There are so few places I can do this in. I am always groping for the handrails, the markers on the wall, the graze of a lightswitch against my fingers so I know what my bearings are. But at Jenny's house in Calgary I can find my way in any room in the house with my eyes closed. I can do the same at Morgan's, to the point where I know which stairs creak. Of course, at both those places, it takes concentration. I can do it at my home in Calgary, unconsciously remembering to lift my knees a little higher for the top step which is responsible for one of my father's broken toes, and for the first time tonight I was conscious of the fact that I could do it at my home here. 

This is my house. I love it because of its tiny rooms and dated wallpaper and ugly rubber grips on the stairs. I love it because it is impossible to come up the stairs quietly and because the upstairs toilet flushes only occasionally. I love the cubbyholes in the bathrooms and that I am the only one who has anything stashed in the cupboards above them. I love the partition which is falling down and I keep meaning to fix so that the house is beautiful before Julie arrives. I love that right now the former dining room - and soon to be the unknown roommate's room - is my music room, and the only furniture in it is in fact my keyboard. I love my moderately efficient ceiling fan and my plans to paint the bathroom yellow and my sticky closet door and my fire pit which no one has used yet. I love emerging from a too-hot shower and pulling back the homemade curtains in the downstairs bathroom to check the temperature, my first indication of the condition of the immediate outside world every day. I have so many plans for this house. I know it isn't where I'll be forever, but today I had my first real conscious pang of ownership. Matt and Lucia may own this house but it is mine. 

ykylm,

rae