letters to me

I'm releasing myself from feeling guilty about how little I write here.

Instead, I'm just going to enjoy it when I can.

xo

Cabin Fever

In my day to day, my job is people. I'm paid to know what someone wants before they want it, to read their body language because their bodies have failed them and they don't have words to tell me what they need. I'm good at it.

No. Actually, I'm great at it.

In my down time I'm with people.

People I love. But I fall into the role of service with even my closest friends.
In my volunteer time, I give my last bits of energy to more people.

I am tired.

And there's no sunlight recharging me.

I retreat.

Under my duvet, curled on a couch, book in hand, sudoko at the ready.

I don't have cabin fever, tucked away in my tiny house in a tiny town where everyone knows everyone

instead I am feverish for a cabin.

Solitude.
Quiet.
Centered.
Snow falling.
Snowshoes.
Woodstove.
A stack of books.
A snoring dog.
A cup of tea.

Waiting for spring.