It’s the 11th of the month and I realize that I’m still writing out the months in my journal as 7/2, 7/3, 7/5…as if July had completely gotten away from me. Creatively, it has. I’ve not written or taken photographs in over a month.
Yet July was an intensely meaningful period of time for me, as I moved house. Not in the one-fell-swoop, hired movers, one-shot manner – I chose the slow, thoughtful, few-bags-at-a-time method. I still live in the same building, so it made more sense; my only timetable was to evacuate the old space by August 1. I spent Lammas moving the heaviest bits of furniture (a bookshelf and an old wooden dresser in the Deco style), and that was pretty much the extent of my celebrations.
My harvest this year was, in fact, a new apartment. This was a goal many years in the planning, the ups and downs of my personal finances being the main obstacle to finally getting out of my previous cramped quarters. Other factors came into play – the economy, hypergentrification – but despite the obstacles I inched forward, saved up, and got the apartment I needed at this current point in time.
It’s not perfect. It has a septic tank, and the shower stall is ridiculously tiny. But it also has a Murphy bed, a sunken floor, and opens out into the garden. Everything works, everything’s clean, and I sleep well at night knowing I can take a dream and make it real.