At some point I stopped sleeping. in anticlimatic

At night I lie down, fight my girlfriend and cats for a corner of the king sized bed, and watch the blue shadows crawl the wall until the clock pushes past 5:00 AM. I put a kettle on and read the news, or entries here, in the predawn dark of the living room.

I can’t get over how much I love this house, and the place it rests. Even today, as I knelt in the dirt for several hours with a hammer and chisel scraping rot out of a long section of one of the foundation timbers. Even with it’s crumbling chimney, peeling roof, and bird nest in a missing piece of soffit. I can walk out my front door, turn left on the sidewalk, and circle a block full of normal, working, down to earth neighbors. There is a pleasant small town pulse that I remember from the town I grew up in. That town is no longer, so it pleases me to find my childhood here instead. Across the street there is a large wooded river that splits the city in half, and a park surrounding it, with many trails. The river drowns any sound of city out, and walking among the trees down in that valley, you would never know you were anywhere but nowhere.

I love it, but it’s driving my hair grey and keeping me from dreams.