The Dismantling

Goodbye, house.

Bad clowns. A gift from a family member.

Forgive me, I haven’t been writing. I’ve been dismantling my house. I go from room to room finding odd things (a light-up football in a box, Bad Clowns, a sack of pink razors) and, for some reason, I never finish. I think this is because I loved where I lived. I love where I live — at any given moment, and for quite awhile, I’ve been back/forth with two places.