In the face of impossibly large numbers of things to post about, rising by the minute, I will just pick little bits of stuff, so I will at least be telling you something.
Now, about where I live now, on the third (top) floor of the Avant independent living community. On the side of #3003 facing the street (El Camino Real, a major city street — also California highway 82 — and the smaller El Camino Way running parallel to it) there’s the living room (a big space in the middle now housing my worktable, huge desk, and accompanying office furniture and equipment) and on either side of it, two bedrooms: on the left, what I’m using as my actual bedroom; on the right, what is now serving as a little living room (currently with my recliner chair, a coffee table, and three ordinary chairs for visitors — very much a work in progress).
As I mentioned in an earlier posting, the street wall in the middle room is one gigantic window, left to right, floor to ceiling, which I keep entirely open to the light (beside the street view, it has the foothills in the background, and My Tree right outside the window) because it’s more or less endlessly pleasurable.
Except when I get up to get something from, or off, the street end of the big desk and inadvertently look down at the tree and the ground below it. And am seized with churning vertigo and the certainty that I am about to crash through the window and fall three stories to my death. Oh jesus fucking christ!
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