Beautiful, cool, overcast day today. Proper Oregon weather.
I don’t miss my home state—Colorado—at all, despite the fact that I lived there forty years. I think I left it at just the right time, before it exploded into the enormous megalopolis running from Fort Collins to Pueblo.
Leaving gave me a chance to be reborn, a process which has come slowly and haltingly, not to mention very painfully at times, but one I have embraced from the beginning. The Shawn that lived there is long dead. I don’t miss him at all. Nor do I miss anyone he used to hang out with, date, or live with.
I’ve known deep, deep inside that I was meant to be next to the ocean, even when I was as young as ten and my family (so called) traveled to San Diego for a vacation. I remember the smell of it. I remember its awe-inspiring surf, and the seagulls. I knew someday I’d come back.
Kye and I don’t have an easy life, but we’re here, living next to some of the most beautiful coastline on Earth. There are few people here; and when fall comes, many of them leave, creating a natural peace that is impossible to ignore or forget.
And that, to me, makes the struggles worth it.
Writing Start: 9:21
New Words (Including Blog): 400 + 300 + 300 = 1000
Edited: 2800 + 1500 + 3000 + 300 = 7600
1. Melody Book III: Edited what I’ve written in chapter twenty-three so far
2. Dreamcatcher: 300 new words
Notes: Another very slow day.
3. Cheapery St. Book III: Edited what I’ve written in chapter four so far
4. Angel Book III: Second primary edit of chapter nine
5. Stories from the Quiet: 300 new words
Notes: I know where the story wants to go, just not how it wants to end.
6. Laurie: Off
7. LOTR: Fourth secondary edit of chapter four
8. Ant Story: Off till 7/7
(Every Day) Blog: 400
Other notions to consider, and which I may or may not elaborate further on tomorrow: Our neighbor, Doug, is about to get kicked out of this park, I think.
He’s a good 400 pounds, lives in a rig that is increasingly broken down, plays his electric guitar really poorly, adores Trump and is an unrepentant racist. He’s a total megalomaniac, believes he’s the next Jimi Hendrix and the world’s greatest cook, lies his ass off about his accomplishments, is deeply critical of others, particularly those who try to play guitar or cook, and generally isn’t someone you want to get to know all that well.
His rig’s sewer system is breaking down, releasing odors that … well, are sickening. The park’s owner discovered that today. Added to the list of other problems he’s saddling the owner with, and the writing is on the wall.
Despite that, Kye and I are reluctant to see him leave, should he get the boot. It’s not that we’re these totally accepting, oblivious folk; we’re not. What we are is very scared, because Doug, believe it or not, represents, for the most part, an above-average neighbor. Usually what replaces one of those is truly heinous.
I’m not kidding. Maybe someday I’ll tell you a few stories about what one of those looks like. Like Doug’s sewer line, it’s … unpleasant.