The leaves are red and mid-departure, elections are over, a lone striped sock sits sans partner on my living room floor. I am drinking pumpkin beer, candles burn, and I need to write many letters and make many phone calls.
I read about a communal living space in Brooklyn in the new issue of New York Magazine today as I drowned my sleepy self in coffee and I so want to live there. I'm trying to persuade Emile to live in some communal-type living place at some point in our lives - lots of people making Thai food together, reading stories out loud by the fire, watching cold waves crash on rocky shores (well, that's not Brooklyn so much- but maybe Maine?).
My friend showed me pictures of his trip to Portland, and now I have such an urge to live there. So many bookstores (especially Powell's!), little Cuban cafes with yellow walls, bus rides to volcanoes.
p.s. Anais Nin was in my dream last night!
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