Navigating the New...

I am playing "musical mansions."  Just checked out of one amazing abode, and checked into another one a couple blocks away. A neighborhood of prodigious weatlh and rolling estates. My life is sort of silly. Not very Shakespearian, much more Becktian. As in Samuel. Waiting for the next shoe to drop. So imagine you are a gypsy. No caravan, just a travel bag, a bicycle, a chromebook, the clothes on your back, extra socks, underwear, t-shirts, jeans, hats, hair-brush, toothbrush, tooth-paste, tea, phone & charger, knick-knacks: headphones, Walkman CD, coffee beans, bean-grinder, a novel by Murakami, two or three handfuls of CDs; albums by Neil Young, The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Mogwai, Sigur Ros, Steely Dan, Daft Punk, My Bloody Valentine, Led Zeppelin, The Who, Nick Cave, the Grateful Dead, Warren Zevon, John Martyn.

A lot of shite to lug around. I think of all that baggage as just the bare necessities. My identity is emobodied in that ramshackle inventory of stuff.

So yes, a new mansion. New bed, new coffemaker (Mr. Coffee = one button on/off), a new furry critter and confidante.  Maybe all this new-ness is good for me? Must be aware of everything. These rooms, these stairs, these implements of creation and destruction. Every step counts. Make a routine, break a routine. I am thinking/hoping it keeps me sharp. Navigating the new. 

I am here for a week or so. Living like a priviledged gyspy. Living in surroundings way beyond my means. I am a floater. A temporary worker. A migrant. A marginal character dancing on the margins. I get paid for it all. Being the caretaker. So weird. Not totally disagreeable. Actually pretty agreeable. Not at home, trying to make my temporary surroundings as home-like as possible. Definitely a bit weird. Yes, sort of a silly way to make it. But make it I intend to do.