It’s been three nights in the house.
Three Quiet Nights.
I didn’t realize how much I was missing my alone time. How space and peace regenerates and renews.
Last night, I sat on the front porch with the dogs, a fizzy water, and a block of cheese. Overlooking the park. Reading. Writing. Thinking.
Since May of 2011, I’ve been living with other people. Traveling or roommates, or visiting.
Introverted people need to be alone to regenerate.
Although I’m outgoing, I’m very introverted.
The other day, I played piano from 10PM to midnight. Because I could.
Once again, I have thoughts of art and sewing and writing. I had thought they went away. I had no creative urges for so long, it seemed like they had died.
I have no doors (they are in the garage to be painted and hinges stripped). No window coverings (they are ordered and on their way). Boxes piled into the art/office room and in the basement. My car doesn’t fit into the garage yet.
And yet, it is calming.
Things have gone wrong. (The shower suddenly has no water pressure. I’m not sure why. I will figure it out.)
But I don’t feel overwhelmed.
It feels like home. It feels like me.
It was just what I needed.