Untitled post #79

I forgot to eat dinner. There was a beer, an open piano, and some spread in my stomach that really pulled hard towards setting my glass on the wood top to let the frills out of those lonely brass strings. I'm so excited for this fall, I don't know why, but I feel like Aslan has been on the move; only in shadows and the corner of my eye in this version of God's reality.

I have come to expect nothing and everything. So I decided tonight to make a marinade from scratch, have Seth and Kirtsy, Tim, and Joseph over for dinner tomorrow and make them steak, risotto, veggies and a cheese tray. I guess I cook when I get bored. It's not a bad thing, I suppose, but maybe I shouldn't get bored so much.

I need to pick back up on reading regularly. My mini library is collecting dust, and the other half is in boxes. I need to move out, even if I don't buy a house. Maybe I'm restless? Maybe I should shut up and cook more. I love having people over, it's just that I'm never home, and home is far away.

A distant address, a distant memory. It's where family tries to collect an idea and feeling of home - but as we are getting old, that's escaping here, sadly. I need my own home, which is temporary until I get to proper Home with my King, and a proper new life.

Music, food, guns, whiskey, books, pen and paper, artwork; who has the time for these many hats? I am the Mad Hatter, and I'll tread into dangerous caves if I have to find treasure. But I listen to Maroon 5, eat salad for lunch mostly, pay off my student loan, and I can't decide if I should do a garden or make a still, still. If I come to a fork in the road, I'll take it.