Notes from the Red Bird House

I'm living in a place I never thought I'd live. Las Vegas, Nevada. I recall being asked when I announced I was moving, if people actually live in Vegas. I've known this as fact all my life - My sister has always lived and worked here; she raised a family here. For the uninitiated, though, Las Vegas is Sin City, a place best sampled in small doses, where what happens stays and where money is lost in prodigious amounts. Surely, no one actually lives there. I am here to tell you that lots of people live here and, moreover, lots of people love living here.  This may come as a shock to my friends - especially to the ones in Austin who remain in denial that I've moved and like to say that I'm merely on a long vacation, and most especially to my long-term friends who have heard me bemoan over and over (and over again) that no place ever feels like home (except Sweden) - but here goes the grand statement. I like it here. A lot. And in many ways it feels like home.  ...

I like it here. Quite a bit actually. It's fine. I tolerate the dry heat. I enjoy my new co-workers. I'm close to my dad and sister. My apartment is better than decent. I just.....and I know this next statement may result in a shit storm of....I don't know... Empathy? Sympathy? Well wishes? Give it times? Hang in theres? I don't desire any of it. I am simply going to state a fact. Or maybe it's an opinion. A feeling? Maybe that's closer to the mark. Regardless, it feels like a fact. At least to me...and let's be honest, in this case, I'm the only "me" that counts. Ok, anywho....the thing is for as much as I like it here, I just....well...I just don't feel like me. I'll add "yet" because that tends to soften the blow...for others. I couldn't give a sh** about softening anything. It is what it is and right now in this very moment, I simply don't feel like me. Perhaps "me" is a geographical thing. I feel diffe...

I'm going to switch gears a little. No running. No moving. No brain chemistry. No straight women (Even though I had a phenomenally graphic dream this week. And no, I haven't been able to look her in the eye since...but I digress). I'm going to discuss reading. Boring, right? I can't say I disagree. I've made friends with reading, but I can't say I love it. I'm a writer - I HAVE to read. Plus, I dislike TV and seldom have the time or attention span for a movie. I despise video games and I have cats so I can't do jigsaw puzzles. What else is there to pass the time? Laundry. Yes. I do a lot of laundry. More often than not, though, I spend my free-chill out time reading. I was given a fantastically awesome Kindle for my birthday (an Oasis) and I have a library card that allows me to borrow e-books from an e-library for free. Which means that reading is free. Cable will cost you. Laundry will cost you. Surfing Amazon to stave off boredom will cost you. Read...

I'm going to apologize ahead of time for what might be a questionably coherent blog post. I seldom write at home because of the inherent distraction. Like just now. I double-clicked on on Blogger then suddenly decided to sweep the floor. I'll probably start a load of laundry and feed my dog before all is said and done here. It's the nature of the beast. Why am I writing at home instead of at Lola Savannah Coffee Lounge, my usual writing haunt? My dog. Yes, really. The move is in full-swing; boxes are packed and stacked; all the living room furniture went to Goodwill this morning. Unlike her mommy, Dylan is forging on ahead sans medication. For the record, her brain chemistry isn't much better than mine. She is my Emotional Support Animal and I am her Emotional Support Human. We need each other right now so even though distractions abound, I'm working at my kitchen table this afternoon. It's odd, this brain chemistry thing. The fog has descended and my affect i...

I'm at Medici, a coffee place, on South Lamar in Austin. I'm here because I need someplace to go while the cleaning lady cleans the house I'm sitting this week. I had intended to write something today - at least that was the plan before a really shitty run this morning drained every ounce of water and motivation out of me - so being here is kind of a sign. There are signs I heed and signs I don't. This one... I'd really like not to heed. I mean what's the damage if I don't write today? Sure, I have no idea when I'll have the time ever again (No, that doesn't seem like an exaggeration at this point). And I do like to stay in practice. But seriously, on the scale of signs to heed, sitting in a coffee place poised in front a nearly fully charged laptop with nothing to do for the next foreseeable several hours, what havoc is it going to wreak in my life if I surf the web for Nevada specialty license plates and kitty condos instead? Alright, here...

"Hold onto me...cuz I'm a little unsteady..." It's the first song that popped up on Pandora tonight. Kismet? Serendipity? I don't know. I had another opening line all picked out (and I'm sure I'll get to it in a bit), but sometimes...sometimes the Universe has other plans. Other ideas. Other directions. And often it's right. Absolutely, perfect right. Like tonight...today...all of it... I was unsteady. I am unsteady. For the first time nearly five years. Five years . This, of course, isn't a lying, narcissistic girlfriend or a bad break up of any kind. And for that I am thankful (Not that I couldn't use a nifty stint on the Break Up Diet). In many ways, it's something worse. Much, much worse. I'm being pulled in two directions, veritably (though not literally...physically speaking anyway) torn in two. It's not news that I'm moving to Las Vegas next month. In fact, I leave one month from today with the first load of my life....

On long flights, I watch movies. I always say I'm going to read, then I see the movie screen and my book or Kindle goes into the seat pocket in front of me and I begin perusing the video catalog. I start with new releases. On my most recent United Airlines flight from Amsterdam to Houston, "Free Solo" leapt out at me. I'd wanted to see it on the big screen (It honestly would have been dizzying in IMax), but I happily settled for the tiny screen in the seat back. Before we even began taxiing, I'd hit play. It was an easy choice - I'm a fan of rockclimbing and, after seeing "Meru," I'm also a fan of Jimmy Chin's talents as a climber and documentary filmmaker. I expected soaring visuals and a physical and psychological study of the feat in question (a 'free solo' - no ropes, no belay, no net, no nothing - of El Capitan) as well as a portrait of the man - Alex Honnold - doing the climbing. I got all of that and more. Alex Honnold and I...