Now, then next part of this horrid* assignment: Where do I write?
In bed. These days I write in bed. Today I am writing in bed with a fluffy soft hat, fingerless gloves and hand-knit slippers. It hasn’t always been the case, though it did start off that way. In the beginning — I didn’t mean to sound like the voice of God there; or was that just how it came across in my own head? — it was this same time of year and I was very, very depressed. I hadn’t been out of bed for a couple weeks so I had a great excuse then. I was however, finally, being productive, creating a blog and releasing my thoughts through my typing fingertips.
Things are different now. I live in a totally new state (and today is the 3rd cold day since I’ve gotten here). I am not borderline suicidal. I am still averaging about 6 hours a day “blogging”. The thing here is that I moved in with people who own a lot of stuff and every day there is more stuff. They are not home — which is why I am here — but for sleep. I am not here to be their maid and they need one. So, I pretty much avoid the rest of the house and hang out in my room. It’s small but very bright and free. The windows are huge so it is either sweltering turn-the-fans-to-maximum or freezing, bundle up with hot cocoa and ignore the mists exhaling from my body.
So, basically, it’s comfy and convenient. And so, minions, know you can picture me all bundled up in my bed (the comforter is white, the walls are blue) writing these posts that may reach out and touch you in one way or another. Let me know what I can write to keep you coming back for more. I’m listening.
*I said horrid because I was hoping this would be a course on writing stories and such and so far it’s not been very interesting, at least not to me.