grey_area tender square i don’t have many housewares left from my first apartment. i’ve been through five moves in the intervening years and items have gradually gotten replaced as they were broken in transport. the grey fleece blanket i have waterfalling over the end of our sectional is one of the last remaining pieces of that time in my early twenties. it’s starting to get holes at some of the seams, and once, i kept it in the dryer too long and it branded a polka-dot pattern in one of the corners. the blanket collects nothing but hair; i’m constantly pulling my chestnut threads from its cling. but i love it. * i’m a constant purger. i hate clutter. i hate holding onto things that don’t get regular use. often, i have gotten rid of items i’ve ended up needing later, or have wished i hadn’t gotten rid of. maybe it’s a compulsion to clear the past; i can’t hold on, i have to let go. * much of the furniture in my first apartment came from my grandmother, after she moved in with us because her dementia was worsening. i liked having parts of her in every room: the pink wingback chair and ottoman set in a corner of my bedroom; her white lace shower curtain with sky-reaching trees; the oak kitchen table with the spindly chairs. * the apartment had a vintage vibe i was drawn to. the building was u-shaped and had a brick courtyard, and the elevator had one of those sliding metal crisscross gates. my unit was on the top floor, at the top of the u; it overlooked the courtyard and out onto giles. the living room walls were stucco swirled in a light blue, the bathroom floor had classic hexagonal tiles and a deep tub, and the kitchen was bisected by china cabinets to separate the cooking area from the eating area. i had clunky radiators in every room. the windows were large and brought in the best light. * even though i had a lot of dark times in that place during the later years when i was drinking and smoking too much, i have a lot of fond memories from that apartment. the best thing i remember? the quiet. * i grew up in a small house packed with a lot of people; three sisters and my parents, not to mention, our large german shepherd. i had to share a room with brea for thirteen years. she was a total slob. i used to put masking tape lines down the center of our space and shove all her shit to one side so at least half of it could stay tidy. our house was nothing but bustling, there was non-stop activity. * when i lived alone, i’d sit on my couch by one of the windows and smoke cigarettes, watching the quality of the light change the tenor of the room for hours. * living with brandon, i’d do anything i could to get out of the house. it’s not that i didn’t like our apartment, or spending time with him. i did. i just wasn’t satisfied sitting alongside him watching tv day in and day out. i craved activity. when michael and i met, he told me he was surprised at how frequently i updated my instagram page to post about all the different places i was at. during that time, i was in a part-time online mba program, i was working full time for an information tech company, and i was going to concerts in and around detroit several times a week. not to mention grabbing drinks with girlfriends in ann arbor whenever i could, or catching new films at michigan theater. my life was inundated by movement. * sobriety was certainly a different beast than what i was used to. i realized much of my life had been built around drinking. and after i stopped, it was hard to see the appeal of being out in the world when i didn’t have to be. i purged my wardrobe of party clothes; anything loud or bright went into the donation bin. i decided i was opting for a life of neutrals and fading into the background. and dammit if i don’t still miss some of those vintage dresses i got rid of. * i’m certainly much more of a homebody now than what i ever was. and i’m grateful for it; the boredom that has come with having to stay home because of covid has been that much easier to tolerate since i was already accustomed to it. i miss some activities sometimes, but not as many as i thought i might. and the longer i go without them, the easier it feels to let them go. the most accurate way i can describe how michael and i live is “separate togetherness.” we retire to different areas of our house to write and read quietly for most of the day. it’s a peaceful existence. we drop-in on one another for little visits, and we make and eat dinner together and go for daily walks. sometimes if we’re feeling talkative, we have long conversations about problems in the culture at large, our ongoing issues in our struggling families, or ideas we’ve been thinking about with our work. we’re looking forward to the start of hockey season so we’ll have regular wings games to watch several nights a week; it changes the energy in our house, we become very animated yelling at the tv. * a few years ago, my mom remarked at how much quieter i am now than what i used to be growing up. “i think you needed to do that in order to write,” she said. i wholeheartedly agree with this assessment. * after the end of every visit i think, “i love my family, but jesus h. christ they are LOUD.” i’m still an extrovert, but their volume and energy can easily exhaust me. i can always tell when michael’s reached his limit; these days i’m not that far behind him. i suppose this is what it means to mellow with age. * the early mornings are my favorite time of day. i wake alone in the darkness and i sit on the sectional wrapped in that grey fleece blanket from my first apartment, reading books or writing dreams. the house is so quiet, i can hear it breathe. 210917 ... unhinged are not acceptable anymore. everyone thinks their opinions are facts, that everyone else must do what they think is best cause they 'did the research' meaning they googled it. google is censoring search results now. your 'research' is just the confirmation bias of what big tech wants us to know and do. just because someone else digs deeper and finds things that refute your opinion doesn't make it misinformation. the human brain is wired to reject things that don't agree with individual preconceived notions. i.e. we will instinctually reject things we don't agree with. that doesn't make the other person wrong or deplorable. real science is just one huge grey area. built on assumptions of the workings of the universe some of which can't be proved. so scientists can and do get it wrong. because they are human. not to mention corruptible. western society just replaced religious dogma with scientific dogma and labels that progress. question everything 210918 ... nr if the situation was different, if we were different, if we were a we, if you were someone else, it would be different. the grey area wouldn't be as grey, or the shade wouldn't matter, or there might be even be some hopefulness. but you are who you are, and you wouldn't be there. i wish i could risk risking but i can't. black and white is required. 211015 ... nr i become more resentful and reluctant and resistant whenever i'm reminded of this self_realizations 211015 ... or self_realization 211015 ... tender_square "she was so good at being in trouble, so bad at being in love" —unknown mortal orchestra 211015 what's it to you? who go blather from