One's Own Room

damn
where to start?
So it must be about 2 months without home internet access now, have not had a single missed heartbeat over this severance. That surprises me. I use my friend's computer. About once a fortnight. I have stopped writing emails to him because it feels too weird sitting at his computer writing emails to him. Sorry KPS. The other person who lives in this house doesn't actually know that I am currently in his house using their internet. He is in his own room in his own deep workbrain.

Some pretty major shifting has been going on.
I have a studio.
I have a room that has a window so low to the floor that it makes me feel like Alice.
It used to be my bedroom years ago. Then it became Q's when he started escaping out of his bedroom window. Then I brain flipped, retrieved my tape measurer and found that my bed could actually fit in my writing room - become quite literally a bed room. A den. I adore it so much.
And just as thrilling is this new room that now contains my creative arms - cellos, cello bows, computer, art work, art materials - all that crap that has been scattered all over the house, now in one room.
And meanwhile I am very slowly (killing DMB with my slowness) painting my living area white, stark, fresh white, white-out of brick arch, wooden window frames, the lot.
Damn I am having such a great time.
I am even going for runs/jogs again.
And doing yoga every week - yoga mat rolled out on studio floor. o that word. studio. totally delicious.
And the dormant seed of cello playing has recently begun to sprout. Playing for myself. Playing scales and exercises and thinking about ringing H to see if she would like to hook up for some practice.
So that is the synopsis. For now. And also, this morning I nearly fell over in the school yard because I recognised the new yardsman - he was the yardsman when I was at primary school. And my son's teacher: she taught my cousins nearly 30 years ago in a classroom beside my own pre-kinder class.