Temporarily in search of: room of own (with chair)

I became too spoiled, wrote too little, when the going was good, the desk set up + books stacked around.

Now: perched on second stair of ladder at the kitchen counter: in an apartment always short on built-ins (save for bookshelves), when the furniture's gone the perches are few.

And so I've gotten grumpy, and unfocused. Past few days spent tying off the zillion tiny loose bits that come with a full-scale move out.

How dull. How discouraging.

Chatty again soon, with a better attitude. Self-knowledge gained: Am good at focus on the road with no responsibiltieis save the travel itself. Am good at focus in own space made nest-like. Am too much a creature of space+habit to, yet, regain focus 'tween the two states.

And to think of all the great books writtten (much less blogs) in fox-holes....

C - lamely mute