I'm sitting at my dining room table by the fire. Rocky's by my side, and the smell of the chicken soup simmering on the stove has just hit me. The sun has just set, so it's almost but not quite dark in the courtyard in front of me. The lights under the umbrella and on the tree are now visible. Music's playing. So finally, after I finish this, I'll be able to write.
Maybe it's that I worked in an office for 11 years, but I'm still finding it so much fun to set up my writing spaces. I go through phases where it will be the same place everyday, or it can change daily. The past few days I've been working from the dining room table. Before that, I wrote in my office upstairs. Before that I did a stint in coffee shops. Now I seem to want to cook and write. I've been making a lot of soups, and I love the way it fills the house with that smell that reminds me of home, the one I grew up in when I was little.
Happy new year, everyone.