Ignoring the clutter of the house, the nearly empty fridge, my inability to speak French fluently, my phone's apparent dematerialization and the pestering knowledge that there is something that needs to be done (or a bunch of somethings that I can only recall through a desire to do them) I decided that today needed to be a day of space. That profound luxury was not wasted on me today, I assure you and though I maybe should feel guilty for ignoring everything other than the feel of paint, the poetry of a good story and ivory keys, I feel no such thing.
My days of late have been somehow full. Full in a very abundant sense, full of walking through brick building studded streets, of conversations, of marveling at the intricacies of computers (why are they so ridiculously complicated?) and other random things that whisk the hours away in a mysterious fashion. However, in this abundance, I am so thankful for days that are mostly silent, that are spent marveling over home based activities that lend me time to process all the opulence of being.
