I read a page of an old journal (circa My Early 20s) from the cache I've been storing in the basement. On it I wrote a few of the things that make me happy. At the top of the list was the word "cleanliness" and right after it "order."
Lately, I've been feeling good about where I am both physically and mentally. I've pushed myself very hard these last 5 months or so and now I feel ready to take the next step, which is create. Some artists can work in utter chaos, perhaps even thrive in it. Chaos thwarts me. I'd rather sit next to a pile of neatly stacked trash than a disheveled mess of fresh roses.
This is one of my many quirks. I've been rediscovering, or better yet, reminding myself of who I am in the new space than now feels like home. This evening we put down a large area rug near my writing desk that I let my bare feet brush across. Closing my eyes I could have been in Oxford only it was colder there this time of year, and unlike today, my house was lonely.