Having
your own place when your twenty is an ideal situation of novelty, excitement
and promise. Having your own place when turning senior, devoid of wife
and pet is, at best, a compromised situation. One makes the best of what
is left, or one devolves into the darkness.
I concentrate on my avocation, continue to support myself and carry
on the best I can, committed to enjoying what may yet still come in the
years remaining. I still got a European vacation (maybe two) left, and while I don't at all mind that solo, alas, road trips are best shared with someone you enjoy.
I'm fairly taken with my micro studio apt- and ya gotta love that 'view' beyond
the parking lot! Any way ya cut it, a vast improvement over the storage room
with a sink I was previously holed up in. And having mastered the art of the Moka
pot, I've finally learned how to make a seriously delicious cup of
java! I actually go to bed thinking of the coffee I'm gonna make myself
the next morning. It's such a wonderfully traditional and analog art that's become a very practical and suitable substitute for the tactile, meditative process of developing my own
film... and tastes a helluva lot better too! I even get a kick outta
hauling my bed outta the closet- less than 5 minutes to set up, less
than 5 to disappear. Looks like I'll never have the patio I always
dreamed of, but that dream always came along with a newspaper, and those too now belong well in the past...
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