There was a time when me the space and my fingers on keyboard was a very important and regular part of my day. When I was free to choose how my moments were spent. When I was single. And alone. When I learned a lot about how alone does not have to mean lonely. And the only time I have ever in my lifetime yet, had an entire house to myself.
Used to get up in the morning, put the coffee on, let the dog out, and sit to write. in the window where all her plants were. i nabbed some of the baby spiders off some of those plants. and the wine from the basement. i did drink a bit of her wine didnt i! and got all upset about him helping himself to one of the empty bottles. not sure why it mattered so much at the time but i really felt like it did. i loved that back stoop, sitting there chain smoking on self inflicted exile. going back inside to eat some samosas and sit to write some more. where is all that writing now? well, it is locked up under a very very good password! pass word protected for all time.
i was house sitting, sitting in that yard surrounded by friendly neighbours, and rose bushes. i played house. had mini bonfires in the habachi. had mini dance parties in the living room. it was a fun house. a play house for playful spirits. some uninvited, most friendly.