|brick wall, empty building|
After commuting all week, gone for half of each day, I treasure the rare weekend days I can just stay home, with no social commitments, no errands—not that I want to spend every weekend this way but that they are a gift. (My friend Carol understands.) Last weekend, I didn't even leave the apartment. To an extrovert, that's likely the equivalent of a week in bed with a wrenched ankle, a broken TV, and a lost cell phone, but for an introvert, long stretches of hours alone at home are pure luxury.
|split-leaf philodendron shadows|
As a side benefit, I spent no money those two days. I watched little media, only the beginnings of a couple different movies while eating dinner. I listened to music while doing chores and browsing the Web, did a lot of reading and thinking. And I wrote.
Sunday, I snipped the large shell buttons off a rough-silk shirt thrifted for the price of a cup of café coffee a while back from William Temple whose color (red) doesn't flatter me and then sewed those buttons onto a black linen jacket thrifted a couple months ago at Goodwill. (See how these things work? Mix, match, fix.)
|white brick wall|
Maintaining a wardrobe is so much easier than handling people. I've been snappish with a good friend lately over something that's none of my business; people must make their own decisions and live with the consequences. And I confronted a difficult, rude coworker this week, asserting my needs, which felt satisfying. I expect relations won't change, but avoiding the person and swallowing my frustration hadn't been working, so I tried something different. We're all natural scientists, experimenting on each other, right? What will happen if I do this, say that? So I poked the snake, prodded the porcupine. He cannot shoot me a face full of quills again for no good reason with no consequences. That era is over.