there is something sacred and intimate about having the sun go down around you when you’re in a room by yourself.
Phase 1: i get home, half-dead. in migraine pain to the point of passing out SO i crawl into bed. [Outside: cloudy, Shades and curtains: drawn, Comfort: Hulu, diet coke, electric blanket. ]
Phase 2: still freezing, under the covers, beginning to feel better [Outside: sun breaks through, Shades and curtains: still drawn, Comfort: twizzlers & a dvd of a mini lesson on poetry. (i’m shaking my head/laughing along with you)]
Phase 3: feeling better [Outside: nyc sunset after rain. this is the best kind because the light on the building is extra-pretty. and the clouds go from pink to peach to purple. Shades and curtains: tied back now, Comfort: a new teaching book and Pandora,vivaldi station]
Phase 4: it’s dark, quiet. not enough light to read, but I don’t want to turn on my lamp. I reach for it, but stop. no one knows I’m home. I’m introverted today, so I like it this way. even my music is off now. no words. no voices. no sound. calm. it’s funny how the ingredients for loneliness can also be a delicious blanket of comfort. I stare out my window in complete contentment. goodnight, day.
*one thing is omitted from phase 4. there were words. -akindoflibrary.blogspot.com- there was a dearest friend and teacher and a bit of poetry. and you can’t read an author like her without wanting to write a bit yourself. i love you dear friend. you are the best kind of writing partner.