I write this sitting on the brand new floor of my brand new apartment. I have no furniture, and I'm not at all sure when it is showing up, but I have my computer, my dog, and my cat, so I feel pretty okay about sleeping on the floor for the foreseeable future.
I write this in a city I lived near for twelve years, and already it feels more like home than its twin, on the other side of the Mississippi ever did.
It is both strange and wonderful to be back here. Strange, because for all I lived in the area for over a decade, I did not live here. The streets that I walked my dog on today are not my streets. But I lived close, and so there is a veil of the almost-familiar layered over everything. When I drive, I keep thinking I've just missed my exit.
Wonderful, because enough of what is here is familiar to be comforting, and the things that are different are differences I chose, and those choices are things that feel like freedom.