Atticus and the girls were out of town for a couple of days this week, so I was home alone. I had a little writing retreat.
When everyone is gone, I tend to eat very simply -- leftover almond chicken for dinner Wednesday night, and then the last of the leftovers for lunch on Thursday. Breakfast was strawberries and blueberries and I was so busy writing all day that I forgot to snack. (It helped that there was no truly excellent chocolate in the house.) I did not, however, for a moment forget the coffee. Always a fresh pot brewing.
It occurred to me that if I lived alone, I would be a prolific writer, and with all the money I would save on food I'd be rich, and with all the forgetfulness about snacks I'd be skinny, too.
But I'd be lonely and miserable.
So happy to see them walk through the door.