(For some odd reason when I working in housing – at a private not-for-profit that administered affordable housing government programs like Section 8 – I chose to remember the names of two elderly clients in my caseload of over 300: Cecil and Olive Harrington. I thought it was such a wonderful couple name, and wanted to use it one day in a story. I still need to do that. They were such lovely people.)
Well, having learned the prospect of my apartment building being sold is very real, I am now beginning to feel some shift in my mind, the idea of change being both seductive and terrifying. Practically speaking, I am poor and my cheap rent stabilized apartment in Brooklyn has allowed me to live as freely as I have in an increasingly gentrified – ie, expensive – neighborhood. Still I am going to try to see the opportunity in this (potential) crisis.
A couple of building shots for you all tonite (made small). My apartment door festooned in Halloween decor and the outside door festooned (on vestibule side) in my scrawl. It was the latter issue that led to my learning the owners are considering this option, as primary landlord is an old man and the building is in decrepit condition so for the rest of his family, a constant hassle. It is funny that I often have this dream, or variations thereof, where I’ve moved or traveled somewhere and I can’t get back home/here to this apartment, and I visit the “old” apartment and keep thinking I might get it back, or do, relieved, etc.
Obviously its about insecurity and risk, but I think the feeling in the dream that this place represented utter comfort/safety was so strong that I expected my conscious mind to feel the same. And it seems it doesn’t. Quite. God this better not bring back that dream tonite, the I can’t catch the boat/plane/train/ride in time or keep losing one of the other of my cats or my belongings, my need to keep them all with me making me miss my chance to return “home” again…sigh. 
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