The comfort of your own world is unprecedented.
I have spent most of the day yesterday at a BBQ with my boyfriends' friends, then at a birthday party with my friends, and today I have been celebrating my son's birthday in a park with his friends, and I JUST. MADE IT. HOME.
My head is still spinning from the chaos of all this life and hullabaloo. I crave to get back to writing, to disappear into the world that is predictable, that I have created. It's like a drug. I don't want to be anywhere else.
I WANT TO BE IN MY BOOK.
Writing is a disease, I tell you. Once you start, you're infected for life.