Isn’t all bad. I settled on a house. It isn’t all said and done, not for a while yet, but I go to sleep debating the writing potential for various rooms. There is the room with the insane wall-paper. Has the advantage of being cozy (Realtor speak for small) and I know how to remove wallpaper. Or the family room with the fireplace. Lacking the requisite family for a family room, I can use it for whatever I want, right? The basement is going to require renovation before anyone wants to spend a whole lot of time down there, so that’s not on the list of possibilities.
The most important part is that there will be a place to write. And a place for my obscene collection of sewing stuff. And a place for me. It isn’t huge, it isn’t new, and it doesn’t have granite counter-tops, but it has a giant cherry tree, and azaleas like the ones in front of the house I grew up in, and tulips. And it feels right. It certainly doesn’t feel like settling. It feels like a great deal of luck.
I don’t know who these people are that do great work (of any variety) out of great chaos, but I’m about ready to be done with the chaos. Settling in. Settling down. Sounds good to me. Really good.