Writing good has seemed impossible lately. I don't even want to know how many times I have tried. There is too much going on in my life right now to have the right amount of headspace and precision to lasso my imagination. I woke up at 5:00 am this morning to drive to Colorado. I thought; this has to be worth it somehow, artistically. But truthfully, it doesn't always have to be that way. I spent the whole day digging for deep emotions and affirmations that I have a soul. I wanted to go to Colorado and find my roots in a place I have never been. I wanted to experience a whole 6 months in one day.
We looked at apartments, and most of them were basement units with cement floors. I was horrified. They looked like public restrooms with a stove. But then we found the one. And I know this because I can picture making spaghetti in that kitchen, and I can't even picture making spaghetti in the kitchen I have now.
I didn't end up having this majorly inspirational day where I come back from Colorado a genius. I didn't have any profound thoughts about the sunrise or the sunset. I just saw a lot of black crows and little yellow butterflies. I devoured fries from Chik-Fil-A and slept in a swampy motel for less than an hour. I had about a pack of gum.
Driving back into Salt Lake made me feel very sad. It magically didn't feel like home anymore but felt so much like home that it hurt. 10 minutes after being back at our old condo I was hyperventilating in the shower about moving.
I am going to miss Adib's Rug Gallery, and Highland Drive, and Frightmares, and Century 16, Ensign Peak and the Alpine Loop, and I will dearly miss so much more.
I am so excited and so sad I almost can't even stand it.