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
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