I'm outta my house. I'm into limbo. Bouncing around up here is kinda crazy. There's all sorts of little people running around - a mystical lagoon in the backyard - a furry four-legged creature that loves to lick the wounds I have garnered on the topsies of my footsies. There are high pitched noises emitted from every corner of this world -- followed occasionally by low bellowing - all ended suddenly by the familiar slamming of a door against its frame.
There are instances of familiarity, garnished with oddities peculiar to this realm. Whereas on my former fridge there was the full page "Misleader" ad from Moveon taken from the New York Times, here the appliance serves as the frame to a kinder, gentler misleader - one who with his wife, dressed in lounging threads, has taken the time out of his busy day to faux-autograph a color photo and send it out to his base.
This is just temporary. It's all an illusion. Simply rebuilding the ship at sea plank by plank. I'm still white knuckling the compass - as there is surely a veil falling around me, a schism of chosen circumstance.
