Comfort levels.

I had a whole post about shyness and isolation and how I can’t go to PTO meetings because I’m shy and its exhausting to think about listening that hard.

And i erased that mother fucker.

Sometimes I just want to shout about how fucking content I am.

I’m eating a RingDing right this very second.

Well, okay, its gone now. But there is one more waiting in the wings.

And, there are four books within reach right now. And I’m typing on a laptop that doesn’t need to be upgraded right now, in my quiet kitchen, my dog and cat are both curled up nearby.

Second RingDing is going down, and I’m going to write all morning.

I go to the farm to bask in brilliant farm light after lunch. I will bring gloves, a hat and an extra sweater.

I’m incredibly lucky.

Yes, I’ve got issues and worries and loneliness. But goddammit. Look at what I have.

Week of writing, reading commences now. Seven days. Every day.

I’m going to be writing for a week, a full seven days. Whether it ends up here or not, I don’t know. I’m going to concentrate on reading too, and I’m dropping my phone on the floor many times, so that it stops alerting me to stupid shit.

Love you much.



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