My Life in Boxes

This is my apartment, or rather, this is the remains of an apartment being readied for a move. I flew home from teaching in Tampa today. The truck arrives on Wednesday. I leave for a monthlong stint at Wichita State University next week. I have a knack for stacking major life events, one on top of the other. 

We're not leaving DC, or Southwest; we're moving just a few blocks away. Why? Because the new apartment has a second bedroom, which makes for a writing office. Making this leap has been a struggle, since a two-artist household doesn't satisfy the conventions of many housing opportunities in a bigger city. But sometimes you have to take the leap, even when it is over a great big canyon. 

I have loved this apartment, but I'm ready to prioritize what I can so with with a room of my own. There is no gate, no lock, no bolt that you can set upon the freedom of my mind. So, you see that little teak desk in the photo above? That blue chair? They are going to go here, in the photo below. The best part is that I think I can eke out enough room in this office for a futon that would allow me to offer visiting poets a place to crash, as long as you don't mind waking up surrounded by books.