It has been a near-two weeks since our final plane touched ground in an icy Winnipeg. Fourteen days, in the scheme of things, is nothing...and yet it is everything. In this slender frame of time, I have become re-acquainted with my bed, meshed voices with many a friend, embraced Christmas avec la famille (and also a haggard infant tree in mine and Sambo's apartment), flung myself into the throes of a newborn job, coaxed my startled body back into frosty temperatures...and so on and so forth.
It is overwhelmingly good to be back to all that is familiar--back to being able to pluck books at will from my collection; back to 3 a.m. apartment-cleaning sessions; back to brothers and my own sweet computer and my closet and my purple bedroom walls and infinite amounts of music and snow-laden streets, and such. Here is a glimmer of what my days have been looking like of late:
Or something like that.
This afternoon I took myself to the Winnipeg Art Gallery...wandered beautifully alone, and checked out two insane exhibits:
(Warhol)
(PostSecrets)
I'd wanted this to be a shade more inspired...but my eyes are glazed with sleep even as I attempt to write now.
I shall channel creativity...but in the meantime, good night and Happy Christmas and I hope you are all sleeping tighter than tight.
xoxo,
r.b.
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