92 Prospect & Hope

New digs. New season. New place. Feeling like the Grand Impostor, living at the apex of College Hill, feeling like the house servants who have moved upstairs. It is peculiar. It is also symbiotic. This house would otherwise sit empty and at risk of vandals, furnace break downs. It is a chance for its owners to relax, not having to visit several times weekly and after every storm. We are here, and will keep it clean, close the windows and doors, watch over the place so that they don't have to. But there is a worm. Sally is unhappy here. She cannot sleep. She says she wishes that she were dead, proof that the idea that one may change where one lives, but bring their problems with them has much truth. I am not sure of how to empathize, to love and help her. She wants no part of me. It does seem cyclical, so I hope that this depression passes soon. I do not want it to deepen, especially with the holidays upcoming. December. The cruelest month, as far as I'm concerned.