Where Do You See Yourself in Five Years?

I have moved many times in my life. The process appeals to my systematic mind: Acquiring boxes and tape. Plotting out what to pack when. Mentally determining how to arrange the boxes in the van. 

The process appeals to my mind, the execution is what I could do without. 

Three more moves, that is the goal: From my new place to the interim place. From the interim place into storage. And, finally, from storage to the last place I will live.

That is the goal, at least.

When my time is over at the interim place, I or we will search for the last place; I have idea where it will be, just that it’s out there. It could be in the United States or Italy or Greece or any number of places—

Getting to Europe is expensive. Immigrating a huge obstacle…but not impossible.

If it is meant to be, I or we will feel it.

If it is meant to be, it’ll happen…wherever it is.

But that stage of things is years away.

Right now it is boxes and tape and organizing the current move in my mind.

Oh, fuck, Izaak, you’re living like some deprived student…

Perhaps. The odd thing is, I like sitting on this rug to write or listen to music. I don’t miss a couch—

And, fucking hell, if I had to move one on my own…

I am happy with my futon mattress on the floor.

This whole set up was designed, there is nothing random about it; luckily I’m happy with it.

The final place will have an actual bed through—

I’m old now, I’ll be really old then—

And really old people need actual beds.

I make a point to sprint up a flight of stairs at the hotel every night. Sprint.

I can still do it, but that time is finite.

I can move every item in a 325 square foot apartment alone, but even now I feel it for a couple of days.

In ten years or even five?

Unknown.

The first memoir (The Bad Kids) has been out four months now. I should be promoting it…seeing as the next memoir will be out in late July (See The Stars, They’re Shining Bright)—

I should be promoting it, but promotion and marketing is repugnant—

But it has to be done…my selling at least some books would help with this whole master plan.

I have no idea where the final homebase will be, aside from the fact it will close to moving water, most likely a river. 

Maybe close enough to hear it, the picture isn’t quite that clear.

Not quite.

There will be a covered porch, I can tell you that much.

Possibly on the edge of a small town, not more than a few miles away.

I don’t know the country or even the state if it’s in the U.S., but I can tell you it will have some sort of wood burning stove.

I’ve seen it in my head for decades, decades.

But for now, there is a one bedroom apartment in Tigard, a southern suburb of Portland. 

A quarter mile removed from a busy motorway like something out of a J.G. Ballard novel.

Once settled, I will get back to working on books and recording music—

And planning the next step...