First night of writing in the new house, and my writing room feels like I’ve been here for years. The desk faces a street side window, the wall color is perfect, and even though the guest bed hasn’t been made up yet, this room feels lived in. I am very, very happy. My record player is in the living room, I can hear Bruce Springsteen overlaying the conversation my husband is having with the in-laws in the next room, and I feel utterly at home and comfortable.
The right thing is blissful.
561 effortless words, a glass of red wine, and a room of my own.
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