The Kind of Blues You Can Tap Your Foot To...

It doesn’t even feel like Friday. After the week that has transpired, it seems like Monday was a lifetime ago; so long ago that I can barely remember it. It’s unfortunate that I’m starting this writing exercise in the midst of the 3^rd quarter of the government fiscal year. I have taken a vow, after listening to the story of a fellow blogger, www.dooce.com (check her out, she’s just plain awesome) to not discuss work on here, should I be able to contain myself. If I can’t contain myself, I’m finally approaching the end anyway and it won’t matter one way or the other. Point being, this is our wrap your arms around your body and squeeze, close your eyes and tell yourself that you’re ok with the fact that you that your hair is on fire, try your very best to stay focused on the big picture and not unleash the dogs of hell on your co-workers, busy time of year. Its 5:21 a.m. and I should be in the office in 9 minutes.

I’m starting to recognize some of the same cycle elements, here in Salt Lake City that crept in the first year in Nashville. Granted, this is on a much smaller scale, dare I even say, normal. It’s not the collapse on the bathroom floor, cut the cord embrace the darkness bad … I’m pretty sure this is just what they call ‘lonely’ The kind of blues you can still tap your foot to, if you know what I mean. So, this weekend, despite the fact that there are still boxes to be unpacked, pictures to be hung and closets to be organized, I’m going to try and get out and do a few things. The farmer’s market is open on Saturday, I’m joining the gym at the University today, and I have a list of knitting shops that I need to go visit. I’m going to try to hit at least two new ones this weekend.

It’s an odd dynamic right now, I love it here. This place fills me with a stillness and stability that I have never known. Being able to sit here in the mornings with my coffee and watch the sun leak up from behind the mountains, walking through this old house and listening to what 120 years sounds like, walking down the street and feeling a perpetual coolness in the air while taking in this town’s obsession with lavender and wild flowers…. It feels like home. It also feels like I’m standing right on the precipice of life, watching it, holding my breath, waiting for the signal, waiting for it to begin. Once we move, once DHB finishes his board exams, once things calm down at work, once I meet some people… there’s an ever so slight sense of hollowness that comes with watching your life from the third person. It’s something I need to get over. I need to plant lavender and wild flowers and be responsible for their survival. I need to bleed and sweat into these 120 year old floor boards making me a part of, not just the history, but the life of this old house through work and love. One of these mornings instead of sipping coffee on the couch, watching the sun leak up from behind the mountain; I should really drive over there and see what it looks like from the peaks. Now there’s a goal.

Happy Friday, everyone!