As many of you know, I have been largely unemployed since graduation (thank you for the copy editing work, Matt!!) and also worried about what I jokingly, yet fearfully referred to as my impending homelessness, since I've got to move off-campus in less than a month. Well, I am still jobless, but it seems I will not be homeless after all.
The word is intriguing to me: homelessness. It conjures up such an abstract melange of imagery. It suggests a lack of something, not rooted, necessarily, but certainly something deeper and more meaningful than the mere presence of a house. A home is a space in which to flourish, or retreat-- a space in which to do any number of things really, but chief among them involves this sense of home. More than a possession, or dwelling, a home represents a space where one belongs and can feel at ease with being one's self.
Considering I recently overheard another woman being attacked within earshot of my bedroom windows (that's two consecutive summers now, for anyone keeping count) I am really looking forward to living with R and to feeling more at ease in the space I have chosen to reside. Plus, my new landlord is also a writer, with the same degrees as I have, and seems like a pretty decent fellow. And with that, half my stress has just melted away. I have a plan, a place to put my things without building a fort from my books underneath a bridge. My kitties will get to run around outside again.
And, while I still won't have a gas stove (beggars can't be choosers, the saying goes) I do have a nice expanse of hardwoods, just blocks away from an urban winery, a park, a liberal arts college, plenty of new slacklining trees, and a rhododendron garden.