Entries and exits
Today the Horse will be kicked off duty as a guardian of celestial traffic.
I finished moving all of my things into my new apartment: I can finally live here.
The kitchen looks decent as a start-up—I have the pans, knives and casseroles that I like. The stove is finally working. There’ll be fire whenever I want.
The curtains fit after three days of holiday-shopping madness.
After unnecessary stress the bathroom ends up clean and tidy.
The sala cradles a quaint set of woven rattan coffee table and chairs, instruments and other stuff that make sound.
A friend texted me: the planet has completed another revolution. Hope we will too!
My boyfriend hung the first painting adjacent to his station; the chips that indicate its careless transport and oldness go well with that bold of a wall paint choice. Everyone knows that perfect shade of unnameable.
He was brilliant enough to point out that I should put my shoes on the lowest partitions of the shelves instead of filling them up with books I won’t read. It saved me three more days of thinking fixing.
Tomorrow the Goat rises and my heart keeps nothing but the promise of more words to be wrought (for example, dates will be remembered) and keys no longer to be thrown.
Dec. 31, 2014