doors open on the night

Dear blog, I write you from the laptop of my friend, slowly poisoning my sinuses with cat hair, preparing to assist her in a move from one Ravenswood dwelling to another Ravenswood dwelling. I have arrived early to steal time on her computer.

I have spent so much time on trains today that I expect the door of this apartment to suddenly sway open and chant, “Doors open on the right.” This entire apartment could start moving parallel to the Red and Brown lines. I’ve been sleeping here to help her in the evenings and mornings, which makes the move-prep easier, but the commute longer.

We have, as one always does when one moves, been using the opportunity of putting her whole life in boxes to take stock of it. She has also been giving me all of her (too small) clothing. There is something so natural about it, though – the impulse to just give stuff away as you go. You can’t take it with you, or if you do, you’ll be sorry. Every tiny T-shirt that she assures me really does fit me is one less she has to carry with her. I cannot say no to them.

Outside, the trains continue to move. The trees are starting to flower.


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