Two days ago I drove away – alone – to a city a few hours away.
I had some LüSa business there, as well as an appointment for a tattoo (more on that another day). It was a fast-and-furious day-and-a-half long trip, but I had been looking forward to it for weeks.
So! Much! Time! For anything I wanted.
I had a vision of snuggling down in my hotel room, writing away on my book for hours on end. I packed two knitting projects and dreamed of quite hours spent working on anything I chose.
In the end, I felt more out of sorts and out of place than ready to write.
I paced around in my hotel room (a fancy suite that I was upgraded to after I burst in on some unsuspecting man in his underwear in the first room they gave me. Um.), connected with a new friend (so, so good to meet a kindred soul), and finally settled into some knitting in my hotel before sleep.
But even falling asleep alone felt foreign – though there was something delicious and decadent about sleeping straight through the night without waking for stray feet, arms, or pets making their way into my space.
I woke up early on Friday morning, thinking that it was almost time to milk our goat, feed the chickens, and begin the day.
But there I was, in the city with traffic hurrying by my window.
So I knitted a few rows and drank my tea in the quiet, marveling at how out of place I felt so far from home.
After my appointments were done I didn't waste any time in aiming my car towards home.
And this morning, waking to the sounds of our three silly roosters (who usually disappoint me with their early calls) felt just right.
This is my place.
And for all the work, for all the energy we pour into our life here, it is the only place where I belong.
It's good to be back.