It’s late at night. My house is still a mess because my brain wasn’t together enough to clean it during the time I had this weekend. I am researching the proper categorization for the Chinese language in search of the right things to say about abbreviations.
These sort of up-late, home-alone times, I let my mind wander to what all the people I love might be doing; especially the ones whose homes I have seen. I like to think of them, safe and well, up late like me or in their own beds. I remember the bright silk brocade curtains we picked out together, the little apartment off the garage with the glowing stars over the bed, the van. I think of an attic full of bankets and mattresses, with a small thing breathing quietly nearby. I think of mother-in-law plants and lovers.
I think of my dad in his study at his computer with his lamp and mom downstairs at her big drawn-on desk with her lamp.
And I then I sort of slot my own self into that network of images, all these good wonderful people out there in my life. And I put my arms around my stuff mammoth and I just go to sleep.