A place to call my own

HOME SWEET SALEM
Big day today…not only is this the one year anniversary of the start of this blog, but today I moved into my new apartment. Naturally, I celebrated with a $5 bottle of Brut champagne. It’s incredible that in the span of a year my life has changed so much. Not only has this blog taken on a life of its own that I never would have suspected, but I have entirely uprooted myself, moving to an opposite corner of the country in the pursuit of creative inspiration and a better state of mind.

And even though I have no furnishings and am surrounded by only my necessities (the Bible and the Qur’an, my Star Wars movies, reference books on folklore and mythology, histories of the colonial Americas, my notebooks, and my volumes of Lovecraft and Poe), I could not be more thrilled. I finally have an entire place of my own, complete with a kitchen and a bathroom I am not required to share. It isn’t perfect: the floors are uneven, there is no closet space to speak of, the bathroom tile is splattered with white paint, the pipes are loud, the extra room is painted a garish rosy pink, and the washer and dryer are situated in a root cellar that is more suited to the height of a hobbit than that of a man a few inches north of six feet.

But what can one expect from a house that was built in the early part of the 19th century? There may not be a right angle to be found in the carpentry and the little door that hides the brick oven is a little creepy, but the whole house lives and breathes HISTORY. The essence of it is frighteningly tangible and I just know if I listen closely enough I will be able to hear the lingering voices of the past. I am so excited to be here that I find myself wondering if sleep will be scarce tonight.