My new digs have yet to feel like home. It’s still as if I’m in a really nice hotel suite, just minus a minibar.
What’s keeping me afloat, my big buoy in the water, is writing. I stay fixed in my little chair once belonging to my late friend Nancy sated in scribble and scrawl. There’s safety in the written word, once put down, finding its home, unlike me, who’s still searching.
We’re designed to adapt, this I know, but it nonetheless, feels like housekeeping will knock any minute to see if I need more towels.
As I just wrote to a friend, by spring, these walls hopefully will fit much better.
Till then, I’ll be patient, bearing the chill, staying closest to the page.
SB a desk in steady progress