i'll let you know when i get there

A few years back, neon burst back into fashion favour for a season or so.  Little blurs of highlighter yellows and pinks could be seen against the grey of the Pacific Northwest.  Loud little waves from strangers. I remembered that moment the other day, driving through the rainy city where everyone had returned to their black jacket and generally neutral attire.   That neon- I missed it and I didn't.  Mostly, I wondered where all those clothes had gone.   In a heap on a beach somewhere? Landfill? Where does any of it go... the colours and people that for a time feel impossible to ignore? I guess ultimately I prefer the well-worn.  Neutral over neon. Not the ability to command, But the power to stay.  

I like the light in my own home- soft glow of the evening kind and warm until the nothing of night. I like my own sounds- neighbours in the hall I hardly hear. The refrigerator sounded so loud for that first week but now is just the din of days plucking on in the corner like an undemanding friend. It's nice to travel. Healthy, probably. Lucky, of course. But it's never right- the light.  Eviscerating white or in the wrong place. The water, a trickle or an assault.  No drawers contain quite what they ought to. All I see are the uncleaned streaks on every other wall (though mine I barely notice at all unless I'm in the mood-  usually in the spring and fall).  Even the places that make you say  "I could get used to this" are not for me. They are not places I really want to be.   I want to be where I am with a closed door and an open window and no plans.