hermitude

I find myself going into that dark, musty place of hermitude. The place that is cozy and warm and alone. Not lonely, but alone. I need some recharge time, some loving myself time, some making soap and baking and cooking and cleaning up and organizing my stuff time.

I've been doing a lot with and for others the last two weeks, but I haven't had much alone time. So I've been hiding in longmont for a bunch of hours today. Hiding in a house that is still sort of mine, peeking at my animals from the window. Wanting to love on them, but not wanting to be around anyone.

I'm full of shoulds today. I should be doing all sorts of things. I have lists and lists of things that I should do. Lists and lists of things that I should be. Lists and list of things that I should feel. I'm tired of the shoulds. Tired of the guilt that goes along with the shoulds.

So I'm not going to be a good friend today. I'm not going to be a good companion or sibling or roommate. I'm not going to be a good (insert any of the other labels that I have here). I'm going to be a hermit and hide and bake and maybe make soap and pet a cat and pay some bills and maybe make a face mask or maybe none of those things. If I don't answer you today, it's just because I'm being hermity.