It also means that my usual haunt is far too crowded for a couple of weeks, so I'm trying to adjust to writing in my own apartment.
I know, I know, "Qué horror! You don't get to go to a coffee shop and write, but have to try and do it in your own apartment." But it's always been something kind of a mental block in trying to write in my own place, at least that's where I've always felt least productive.
But I'm looking at a new day in that, I hope. Before I've always had a place where I crashed, the place where my bed was at. But in what seems like a rather rapid development, over the past year I've started trying to get more invested in the place that I live.
I started buying artwork and hanging it on my walls. I think my end goal is to make my apartment feel little different from the coffee shops that I write in, art covering the walls, making it a beautiful, clean space. It's nice. I've only got a small handful of pieces right now, but I have enough that I needed to buy a second six-pack of frames.
This apartment belongs to me and the furry little hay-eater who lives in my closet. And I'm no longer fighting against inertia, depression, and the debris of toxic relationships. Depression will hit again, but that's the nice thing about a studio, it's almost more effort to not sweep and clean up the apartment.