I have just (as of Friday) moved into a house where I will be living for the next month and a half. In the grand scheme of things, 45 days is not long, but at this period in my life, it seems almost extravagantly so. I am sleeping in a bed with sheets that I own, and eating food that I keep on a shelf designated for me. I can't be kicked out at the whim of my host. It is luxurious.
The house is in a swell neighborhood called Brooklyn, here in lovely Portland, OR. It is on the border of a residential neighborhood and an industrial sector, and late at night we hear blasts from truck horns as they signal to each other. I imagine that I am on an ocean cruise ship and that they are passing freightliners.
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