How many times

 I worked a lot this weekend. Got a lot done. Finished some things today at work. Things are getting set up, things are getting packed up, things are getting tossed, things are getting moved. 

It’s exciting, and sad. New connections to make and some that will be gone. 

I was thinking about how I won’t have coworkers anymore, not really. Maybe a consult group, or partners for projects, but not coworkers. Neighbors yeah. But not sure who I will eat lunch with, or sit and do paperwork with. 

I’ve been crunching numbers, I think 21 per week is like the safe minimum to still make enough to live on. 24 a week would be ideal. More is possible. Lately I think I average between 18-22, so that’s kind of the right fit, except I need to make sure I’m not slacking… I don’t have to work 9 hour days… I can work 7ish, or four days of 8-10? Or 4 days and a half day?

I went to see the fantastic four by myself tonight. A few days ago it was Superman. Both at river view. 

As I was walking out, it was like that magic hour, the green of all the summer life glowed, but it wasn’t bright, and it wasn’t brutal hot. It was just right. And I imagined myself living in that neighborhood, and being happy. 

I was on a strange mood. While peeing after the movie, I wondered how many times I’d peed at that urinal, and then how many times in my life? All the places I’ve so quickly forgotten… I couldn’t describe half the bathrooms I’ve lived with. I couldn’t tell you all the places I’ve slept, or the places I’ve visited… memory is soooo gone.

It’s like, I recall little things. Little moments of feeling mindful, or excited or present, and then gone. 

Why do I recall walking the streets of Santiago chile looking for food at night, but can’t recall the room we stayed in?

Why do I remember thehighway when I used to drive out to mound for work, but not the  names of the people  I met with. 

Why do I remember the things I do, but not the faces of people I’ve claimed to love?

Why is it so easy to spend countless nights, not remembering, glued to a tv, computer or phone screen, tick the night away, and remember nothing. 

It’s funny to have done and seen so many things that it sometimes feels like different life times, and then also realize you’ve not done anything new or novel, not changed your path, or smelled or tasted or felt anything new in sooo long. 

Illy and I were at the bulldog remembering old times, and feeling old, as loud Saturday night people came and went. I don’t go out… so why do I want to live in the city? Why do I want to be around things, but not of them…

I know I’m ready for a change. I’m not sure what the next lifetime will bring, but this one is spent… 

Will there be love? Will there be something worth fighting for? Will there be creativity and novelty? Or will I fall into a new rhythm of the same old?

Grandview or riverview or rosedale? Back and forth? Highland or midway or the quarry? Where will I spend my time? 

Where will I shop? Who will I be in this next life?

I remember wandering Cuenca, wondering why Ottmar Liebert had a little monument, how he’d jumped off my cd player and into real life in this other worldly place where I considered moving too. But I asked Cuenca why it hadn’t brought me any love and told her I had to keep moving on… and that’s me now too.   

Unsure what the future holds,

Not sure how many times I will rebuild my life, make it anew… but I’ve got a few weeks left here, and then onto the next one.