Description: Don't linger in the doorway; come in. Pull up a chair. Make yourself comfortable. Stay a bit, or a while, or somewhere in between. I know what you're thinking; it's awfully cluttered in here. You're right. I tend to hold onto scraps of paper, journals too pretty to mar with writing, and the odd stack…
Don’t linger in the doorway; come in. Pull up a chair. Make yourself comfortable. Stay a bit, or a while, or somewhere in between.
I know what you’re thinking; it’s awfully cluttered in here. You’re right. I tend to hold onto scraps of paper, journals too pretty to mar with writing, and the odd stack of books here and there that I always plan to crack open. Everything is coated with a fine layer of dust (I was never very good at housekeeping), and a cat or two will come by to swish against your legs. Don’t be surprised if one takes a liking to your lap. They do that sometimes.
But you’re not here for the cats or the dust or even the tea which is typically in some stage of steeping in the kitchen or on my desk. You’re here for me. For what I promised you. For what I proffer, freely, for you to take.