November 4th, 2002


back of beyond

Sarah's house is magnificent. Not for everyone, but it is very Sarah. One of the things I admire about her is her ability to know what is right for herself, and fuck-all if the rest of the world doesn't like it, wouldn't want it, or hasn't made the same choices.

The house is in Grotto. The post office is in Baring - box only delivery, by the by. I arrived after dark, so I was doubly struck by the surroundings in the morning, when I stepped out on the porch and was bitch-slapped by a mountain. Driving back into town I observed that if I lived out there I'd never survive, as I'd drive off a cliff from not looking at the road whilst admiring the view.

It's two bedrooms, and is small enough that one person doesn't rattle around in it, but large enough that you could have a decent group of friends over without feeling over-crowded. There is a garden, a side yard, four outbuildings - a plum tree, a grape arbor that's fruiting, and raspberry canes that will bear in a year or so with a little tending... It needs a little work, but all of the sort you'd do when making a space your own anyway, so it's perfect - or practically so.

It's especially grand because this is something Sharkins has wanted for a long time, a house of her own. Not necessarily an easy goal to reach, especially on a teacher's salary. I'm tickled for her to no end.
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nanowrimo blues

One of the sad things about a habit of doing first drafting in your head is is makes your daily word count look for shit.

yeah, this is why I don't do poetry slams - I am not a performance artist. I'm not averse to examining process, but I don't know as I want to do my autopsy on the street corner.

Or perhaps I'm just feeling inadequate. Heh.
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    embarrassed embarrassed