Welcome Respite Over, and Welcome to The House
I took an impromptu week off to collect my thoughts, as well as to regroup my enthusiasm for this blogging thing. I didn’t want to just go through the motions of pretending to have something to say when, in the past few weeks, I’ve been doing absolutely nothing.
For now, this nothing period is over. I’m back in the blogging game, and plan to have something to say every day. If nothing else, blog should help me keep my wits about me, and to stop my early onset feeblemindedness.
Another helpful exercise: I’ve moved to a new place. We call it The House.
Years ago, when I first entered college, The House was the place to be. Simply put: party central. Years, and pressure from the signatory renter, have since dulled its allure to the party-going crowd. If it weren’t for the few dirty living areas and a makeshift room created by drapes and a massive piece of particle board, you might not even guess that college kids live here. Until, of course, you look at the front lawn.
Every other house on our street has perfectly manicured, lushly green lawns. Ours has dirt, one big tree and a few sparse patches of crabgrass. Instead of kitchy lawn ornaments or colorfully seasonal banners from Longs Drugs to decorate our front yard, we have cigarette butts, one plastic camp chair and the remnants of fireworks from July 4, 2007. Instead of gleaming sports-utility vehicles and lovingly new minivans, we have four cars in varying degrees of crustyness: two in the driveway, one by the curb, one across the street.
Even on our street, lined on both sides with too many homes to count, it’d be pretty easily to pick out The House.