I am sitting on the deck of my new apartment in the lounge chair that I kept leaving out in the rain. I can face the sun and stretch out my toes and my recent spate of over-dramatization seems silly. The air of urgency has flickered out.
The move is complete. This deck is mine. The inevitable panic and flurry and then loneliness of finals week at the university is over, and I can begin to adjust to fewer voices and fewer distractions. Sometimes this summer I will find myself turning to stare out the window for entire minutes at a time. It always ends up.
My mom found out she isn't a carrier for the breast cancer gene, and so it's more, well, it's more bad luck than fate that this is its second generation in our family. I guess I'm not surprised--carrying such a gene around doesn't sound like a thing a good little Mennonite family would do. So I no longer feel like I, too, am powerless against the seeds in my body that will one day begin to eat it away.
I have ideas again, and schemes. And an old Casio keyboard that is a pale comparison but still a workable substitute for the piano I've been missing. My day's only just getting started.
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