less home

last night after the joyce i came home to tackle packing up the bookshelf in our living room.

two months ago my whole being was enveloped in melancholia as i began to register and live with the impending breakup between my apartment and me. weeks ago i stopped sleeping in my bed and moved out to the sofa. i kept the television on to numb my mind and put me to sleep.

good friends teased me when i told them i had sent BED (i'll name it that as it was also at one point a center to piece to our set design of a play with the self-same name) to my friends apartment weeks before my scheduled move out. but somehow it made absolute sense in my mind. it was the beginning step that i needed to take to move forward with my life.

and now i'm moving onto chairs and pots, spices and impulse food purchases that have been stored in my cupboard for one day:

a bag of hot chilli peppers that susan had bequeathed to me before her move to paris.

a bottle of olive oil i needed to purchase for the shape of the glass.

boxes of annie's mac and cheese that had been on super sale at whole foods one night that i couldn't pass up purchasing.

bottles and bottles of capers because i always forget if i have them or not.

cans of cranberry sauce because we order too many every thanksgiving but forget that we did the year before and so fresh direct brings us one.

tonight, i tackle the bookshelf in my room. box up the books that have sat on my shelf for too long because i've not had the time or mental focus to read or reread them. they are my only objects that i feel a comfort in boxing for the moment. packed with love and care, and the knowledge that some new place, some new room will find them in the future sitting on the shelves of the only piece of furniture that i will not part from.