Turning my little motel room into a home . . . unpacking, buying a small microwave, fans, little coffee/hot water for tea maker . . . setting up my altar, burning some Nag Champa and sage . . . opening as gently as I can back into the fact that I am alone . . . preparing for work on Monday and school orientation on Wednesday . . . doing practices in the morning again, trying to create more openings through the fear to the sweetness, lightness, joy underneath . . . looking into the eyes of my kitties and getting the realization yet again that wherever they are is home for me . . . I had to sneak my kitties in here as its impossible to find a place that accepts cats . . . the first place I landed in downtown Albany had to be jettisoned after one night - a misunderstanding with the subleter that escalated into the police being called after he nonchalantly cheated me out of money - "so sue me if you think you can get it back" - and I dumped an entire bottle of water on his head . . . feeling how fragile living is and knowing that we all share this, the illusion of permanence, the desire for things to change even as we cling so that nothing leaves . . . running around looking to put a few things in place so that I have even a small, kindasilly safety net of comforts - a video card, a library card, my spelt bread at a local health food store. . . At night I listen to the sounds of the cars on the highway, the crickets from the abandoned lot behind the motel . . . My fellow motel dwellers are all nomads too - a man in his fifties who appears to be ill and dying . . . he smiles shyly at me and works his crossword puzzles behind pulled curtains - a woman who left her boyfriend (but is returning to him on Sunday) and set up what appears to be a white trash pasha's palace in the room next to me - a man with a broken hip whose son comes and visits him every day - a half dozen other people who are hardly ever around. It is the quietest place I have ever been next to the mountain. I don't hear a peep out of anyone, not a cough, not a tv, not a conversation. And yet everyone that I have met so far has been kind. There are no ego wars going on in this motel . . . the challenge of living has been fight enough so why not be kind to one another?