I love our guest room for some reason. Maybe because its rarely used and stays clean. Or because its cozy and quiet. The dog doesn’t come in here, the kiddo doesn’t either, nor The Accountant. Its an untouched space of sorts. That’s where I am now. Sometimes I’ll take my laptop in here and sit in bed and do my internet thang, or even read a real live honest to goodness book.
I get inklings of the same vibe I used to get when I’d go into my grandmother’s guest bedroom. Or maybe it was her regular bedroom, I’m not really sure. She and my grandfather slept in separate rooms (can’t blame her ’cause goodness that man could snore!) and when my brother and I would go stay with them we would get the back bedroom with the two twin beds in it and grandma would take the other spare room across from grandpa’s. I rarely ventured into that room but when I did go exploring I’d walk gingerly across the always freshly vacuumed carpet and dare not touch the immaculately made up bed. It seemed so…untouchable or something. Like a private space I didn’t want to disturb but that I loved to just stand quietly in.
And I really didn’t mean for this to turn into a post about a room but there ya go. I think I was going to write something about my day, feeling invisible, my abbreviated run that left me drenched tonight, the latest kiddo trick, how the new blog theme here is the result of deeply rooted boredom, etc. My brain takes me to unexpected places sometimes. I kind of like that.