In which I do very little

Tonight was another tired, uneventful evening at home. I ate dinner, did laundry, read, and feasted upon the chocolate-capped bourbon balls Kathleen and I made yesterday at our girls' hangout night of awesome that I tried so hard to tell you about in my last post. My roommate's not home, I have a Christmas-scented candle lit, and I'm about to fold some laundry.

I've been making a concerted effort lately not to over-book myself -- I love being social but if I don't get enough time to myself I start to feel drained. Also, I have a need to nest sometimes, and I hate a messy apartment -- which mine invariably becomes if I spend too much time away. Also also -- and this is a big thing -- the first step to me getting back into my art is giving myself time with my sketchbook. This seems like a simple piece of logic, but after years of simply not having the time, getting back in the habit of taking the free time I now do have and using it this way is surprisingly difficult. Or at least it was until recently. Now that I've acknowledged art as such a high priority (I've decided to go to art school, if anyone doesn't know) and have gotten excited about it again, the impulse to pick up my sketch book when I have a free evening is slowly (SLOWLY) returning. Win!

But this evening, after such a late night last night, I just let myself curl up by the lamp and pick away at Rose Daughter without much thought to the future. At least, no future past a hot shower and a warm rice sock to take to bed with me (and maybe another bourbon ball).