I have two homes right now, although it does not feel as decadent as it might sound. Mostly stressful. I decided to move, and that’s important I think, that I decided, because this was a move of friendship and excitement and hope, not a move of necessity. I think I could make a long, complicated argument about the necessity of it, but no one wants to read it and I don’t want to write it. I am tired of the hermitage, ready to be with friends, ready to live in a place that feels less like a marketing experiment, which is a bad way of putting that, but gets at something like the point.
2013 ended in a spectacular blaze of confusion, 2014 has been a series of explosions.
But it’s 12 days into the year and I am starting to write again, I am packing my entire life into boxes to either get rid of or move, and seven days ago I found out that I am now in charge of the people I have worked with for the last two years.
I am tired, I am always tired, but there are too many trees growing in this field to not pay attention. No more sleeping.