It’s six and the room is dark. I choose a window to open based on external spider placement. 3 out of 4. The birds are more reserved now than they are at two am. C’mon guys, now is the time to sing. There are gym shorts stashed behind this chair here. Uncomfortable. This blue t-shirt they gave me for work is about to become… I don’t know what. Another shirt I sleep in? A shirt that will get trashed when painting? One for the gym? I don’t know why I care to plan this or imagine its future. Probably something about investments in objects and their meanings, past and future. These windows have nose prints all over them. Puppies not people live here. God, I wish. Two residents just came in and announced that I was not Lindsey. I am not Lindsey. I love what they choose to say to me in the four seconds they have to talk to me as they cross the room. Regrets in the elevator ride. 

I’ve spent the better part of the last nine months reading, researching and absorbing all things nomadic. Now that I’m on the other side of that, looking ahead, all I can think about it how little I want to be settled. As uncomfortable and potentially stressful that is, aspects of their peripatetic lifestyle sticks with me. I mean, it’s not the same in the slightest, but I can take that idea. I like knowing where I’ll be for the summer; for the first time I’m excited about that. I imagine little things like the way it will feel to sit out on the roof at night and how i’ll put my room together with the few things I’ll take there with me. I imagine that I’ll write and that I’ll read, but like summers past, I’m sure I’ll do it less frequently than I want. Come August, I don’t know. I like the idea of coming back to St. Louis for a bit and saying hello and goodbye to the people remaining here. I want to go to Philadelphia, Brazil, France. Something will become evident as the summer progresses. A place will rise to the top and that will be home next, but not forever.