tulip bloom.

There's this character that lives in my apartment building. He's a strange combination of Martha Stewart and Mell Gibson's character in Conspiracy Theory. His tulips are treated as if each bud coming out of the ground possesses a personality and a soul, while every human personality he comes in contact with is suspect. I have been cautioned to not visit any Al Qaeda sights on the internet, and also, to choose sidewalk over grass so as to not squash an overlooked bud.

I marvel at human personalities that follow anticipated life patterns, those that purchase shampoo before the bottle is actually empty, and homeowners in general. I met an engineer this week and congratulated him. "Thanks, I think," was his response. His life's asset, from this wanderers perspective, is stability in all kinds of forms. This wanderers is freedom.

Sometimes I wonder if I will wake up someday so completely aware of the level to which I have been ruining my life all these commitment free years that I will only be able to breath at the level of a heavy smoker. Engineers make me wonder this, and attorneys too.

Heavy smoking neighbors like Mr. Tulip reassure me, unbeknownst to them, that in fact I won't ever wake up barely breathing; There's value in my asset, he subconsciously says to me while telling me audibly and exhaustively about the bamboo fence he's putting up to keep the neighbor dogs from barking.

As I breathe in and out in my lease-free apartment, homemade granola cooling on the stove, I think about those bulbs that have been under the muck and frost with the worms and grub, making bloom progress in ways we haven't been able to see. And though most have seen the first tulips of spring, when they finally break through again after winter's end, it's as if we're seeing them for the first time all over. This kind of bloom is forever worth waiting for.