Surrendering Summer

I had been back from the beach for a few days...In fact, I hadn't even been at the beach very long. About two days, including one scalding sunburn, several large cigars, and much much booze. I came home a salty pickled lobster, still basking in the afterglow. I was unpacking and pulled out this shirt, which sent a tiny breeze of ocean and sand scent through the room. I was loathe to put it away, hanging it  up on my closet door, pretending that the intensity of that remembrance wouldn't fade.

Sometime before that, I had planted carrots and leeks. The carrots look slightly like cilantro leaves, but they seem to be doing much better than my cilantro ever did. I know that's a sad admission, but I think I overwatered them..or perhaps they were missing something from the soil. Anyhow, these little leeks are slow growers, but it seems they are trucking along. I should plant many, many more of them, but I don't know if I will have time. 

I don't want to quite admit that a new part of my life is about to start. I am kinda, really, scared. I keep thinking that if I hadn't been so foolish or wasteful; if I had just been a little smarter with my money, a little better at managing my time...I would be in a much better spot. But I suppose all of that doesn't really matter now, and I can't keep dwelling on it.

It's like this house I live in: It's good in that it is my space, I have spread out all over it. I have painted some, and made music, and food. I have shared it with other people and leavened much time with humor and conversation. Yet it is never clean enough, I can never fix it up to my satisfaction or even feel like something more than crazy teenagers live in it. It is peeling and on a slant and I am constantly evicting spiders from every corner. But it just is.  I have to accept that, for now, and stop wasting energy fighting what really isn't going to matter in the long run. Sigh.