My lovely travelling companions,
How y'all doing?
Here me is, tired like a dawg that frolic all night. Huh, I wish I been frolicking.
Moving to a new dwelling place again, I been.
Ma settle into she new home safe and comfortable. Me, she carer-companion, go where she go. I park me shoes, me clothes, in she new place of abode. And of course, me writing material!
Me hardy ancestors who heave tent and belongings in caravan across hot, dusty desert...I raise me hand to me heart, me lips, me forehead, in respect to them.
The packing up of things, then unpacking and putting everything into place, got me feeling as if I leave me writing spirit in a box, and I ain't find the box to unpack it as yet.
Please stay safe, dear friends, neena xxx.
It's a very strange thing that we have lived in this house for 16 years. I have never lived anywhere for so long!
ReplyDeleteLongest previous was 9 years when I was a child, but most places I have lived have been between 1 and 3 years.
At some point in the next year, maybe 5, we will have to move again. But the thought unsettles me much more now.
I am out of the habit of moving house.
Oh boy, Kim. After 16 years. I know the feeling. I've learnt that, from the day I know I must move, I need to get boxes, and start packing. So the only day that's stressful is the actual day of moving.
DeleteMoving has made me examine the idea of home.
I hope you will be very happy in your new home.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Joey. I can be happy anywhere as long as I can write non-stop. And I have Internet.
DeleteJust the thought of moving fills me with dread. I suspect that our travelling ancestors didn't clutter themselves with the unnecessary things I do. Things which clutter my home and my head.
ReplyDeleteI am pretty sure your writing muse will find you. She is perhaps as integral to you as your bones...
Child, I was looking at a documentary called Minimalism. How I want that lifestyle. But, wanting and doing are two different things. I am not ready to give up the stuff I own, hahaha.
DeleteAs for the clutter in my head. Shees.
When I blog, read books, I feel my writing muse creeping back.