Unpacking is going along as expected. One box after another spilling it’s guts out, and me attempting to make sure that things are put in places where they look like they ought to belong. I don’t want to be the only one who knows where everything is, but then that’s just tough shit, innit?

I feel like there’s poetry inside bubbling up, but there’s not enough fizz to get it out. I want to write, but have nothing to say.  That’s why I’m simply typing words now, listening to my fingers tap out letters that grow into sentences with no meaning whatsoever but exist simply because there is a medium for me to ramble onto.

Something’s coming on the wind, sure enough.  I wish it would just get the fuck here.

I have to thank happypete for introducing me to LiveJournal in the first place. At the time I was pretty down on myself, and writing about it seemed to be the last thing I felt like doing. Nearly six years later, I can’t imagine this sort of sharing with friends and strangers not being a part of my life.

These next two days are my weekends, and while I don’t have a lot of stuff planned — what there is is mostly cleaning and dragging stuff up to my room — I’m glad to have the time off from the call center. As simple a job as it is, it can be taxing on the nerves. Here’s to either getting the job I applied for on Friday, or going to 12 hour shifts.

It rained most of today here, and we’ve got flood warnings too, if that helps at all.

Yes, it’s cold. Yes, I’ve bitched about it being cold — in June.

But, my god. It’s comfortable. Give me cold, lots of of cold, lots of tender juicy cold. I’d much rather have this, with the beautiful peeks of sunshine that we’ve been getting…than unbearable heat and humidity. Which is what I’ve lived through here for the previous 4 years.

This winter was marvelous. More snow than I expected, and I felt like I did the first time I ever saw snow. I was eight or nine, and my step-father had just moved me and my mother from California (San Fran, so I know from cold…especially in August) to Rhode Island. I remember stepping outside, my feet crunching into the white, sticky powder. I had a puppy named Rug, and it was the first time he’d seen snow, too. We ran, jumped, rolled, and played in the snow, until my fingers were so cold that I couldn’t make a fist. Rug had nosed around in the snow, and still had powder and flakes on his snout, and my mother rescued us both and I remember drinking something hot. Probably cocoa. It was marvelous.

Before my husband and I married, we set off for Seattle. We never made it there, and there are hundreds of thousands of times that I wish we had. For more reasons than just ‘the weather’. But that’s certainly one of the things that I was looking forward to. I’d spent a little time in Seattle–not enough to develop an adult concept of the place, or a firm and definite reason behind wanting to live there. But I was drawn there. And I think my ex felt the same way. I could be wrong.

But the cool, rainy weather just called to me. It’s what I craved, what I wanted. I wanted lush green. I wanted Seattle. So, I suppose, I’m getting that now, here. I don’t want to give it up, for the inevitable heat and humidity that I feel will be my payment for two of the lovliest seasons that I’ve spent in this area.

I like summer…I don’t like oppression. Record highs in temperatures and humidity feels like death to me. When the air is so warm that your breath is cool when you exhale, I feel stifled. Oppressed. Unwilling to take part in anything.

So, perhaps that’s where I need to be. In the land of Spring, Fall, and Winter. Where is that place?