This is it. A place of my own. In a town where I’m known. I have not lived alone since I left T or C in 2022. I have been living with roommates which, by very nature, implies conditions. Lower the music: no politics discussed: one or two shelves in the kitchen only: same for the fridge.

Already it seems far in the past. It seems so small to fit the rearview mirror. It seems too small to have ever housed a me who lived there.

It feels to have been contrived & parsimonious, a much smaller way of living than I am permitted. I suddenly feel adult, responsible, allowed. I can make decisions, spend or save, go out or stay in. My door is my own.

This is sacred space. I would take my shoes off, but the goatheads ride in cracks of rubber soles & are sharply painful when encountered. Plus I am rehabilitating my feet which I find to be sore. Arnica, lotion, oil, sneakers for support, all contribute to my little program of self-care.

Already I am able to be social: writing group today, helping at the Health Fair yesterday, working Saturday. This week is working 3 shifts, lunch with a friend Wednesday, maybe writing group tomorrow before work…

I close my eyes & am content to be who & where & how I am. I ask no more of love.