I tried staying home in September. After a weekend family dinner and a dental cleaning, I decided to spend the remaining 3 weeks elsewhere.
On paper, it seems like a frivolous expense to road trip for so long when I have a lovely place I like to call home. However, I knew that I would regret not taking the opportunity.
I’m home now, feeling refreshed and satisfied. It’s cold. My CX-5 needs a wash and an oil change but is resting in my garage while I hibernate.
It felt so nice and slightly weird sleeping in my own bed. Piles of laundry, half-unpacked suitcase. I like coming home to a clean and organized house. It takes me a good week to recover from a long trip.
I don’t wanna see anybody or have any obligations.
This has been a year of no plans-which is very unlike me. A series of family deaths have shaped the year. Lots of travel involved.
In this moment, I want to plan out every inch of the next 3 months. Planning makes me feel secure. If I know I have things to “do”, then I feel as though I cannot fail.
I sat at my writing desk and wrote a list of things I need to attend to.
- semi-annual visit to my dermatologist
- find my blood test form so I can go get one done
- call my family doctor to book my annual physical
- call the insurance agent to adjust my policy
- maybe look into a part-time "part time" job that is within 5 minutes walking distance from my house. Maybe.
- buy a pumpkin
You know, back to the real world. It just started to snow. It makes me glad I'm off the roads now. The desk I'm writing on is placed in a bay window on the 3rd level so I see treetops and sky as I sit and write. The sky is white and the tree to my left is still green Everything else is yellow. Soon it will be bare branches and sounds like a bitterly cold Canadian winter is in store.
Ya.
At the same time, it makes me feel romantic. Not the relationship kind of romance that fades into daily routine, but the hopeful, fanciful kind that never goes away because it rarely becomes reality.
The thought of waking up each morning, making tea, sitting in my writing room and putting thoughts and ideas to paper and crafting something that eventually hits the eyeballs of you readers and makes you smile or think or whatever feeling you have at that moment.....while outside is blustery and snowy and being winter like... that makes me feel romantic and happy and hopeful that I get to experience such a thing.
Ya.
At the same time, it makes me feel romantic. Not the relationship kind of romance that fades into daily routine, but the hopeful, fanciful kind that never goes away because it rarely becomes reality.
The thought of waking up each morning, making tea, sitting in my writing room and putting thoughts and ideas to paper and crafting something that eventually hits the eyeballs of you readers and makes you smile or think or whatever feeling you have at that moment.....while outside is blustery and snowy and being winter like... that makes me feel romantic and happy and hopeful that I get to experience such a thing.
This place that I currently call home, is a space where I am allowed to dream. I am allowed to carve out any ambition I have without judgement. I wanted a space, even if it's temporary, where I write in peace and anonymity. No one knows where I am or who I am here. I am surrounded by everything I need to feel comfortable and inspired and at ease.
I told myself when I moved in, " no self-doubt here". When I first found this place, I felt an instant feeling of being home. I knew I would be living here. For how long, I do not know, but right now, I am in the perfect space.
I don't feel I'm in my permanent community. The purpose of exploring writing to see where it leads me. Part of not having a plan for this year has led me to write publicly-blogging, finding an audience while I'm just another random person writing online.
A year ago, while I was traveling and unhappy with my previous home, I didn't do any form of writing at all. Well, I wrote in my many journals but I didn't write anything I could publish. It wasn't until I found this place, that the idea to blog came about.
One thing leads to another. Seemingly unrelated really. I took bookkeeping classes earlier this year to refresh my memory, thinking I was going to work as a bookkeeper and I ended up creating a blog called the Bitchy Bookkeeper because I thought it was funny and the idea wouldn't leave me alone.
So in 3 months time, who knows what I will be doing. I've gone all year, following my instincts, so why stop now?
Have a lovely day,
Sincerely,
LeNora Faye
Bitchy Bookkeeper
Almost an Author
Former Fantastic Violinist
The Bitchy Bookkeeper Instagram
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