lazy Saturday

I have two guests for the weekend, both of whom are sleeping on my living room floor just behind me, and have been since about one o'clock.

It's amazing how different it is to have people in the house. Even when you're doing nothing at all, even when you've just awakened from a floor nap and idly flip a book off the shelf to read it -- things you would ordinarily do alone, so are not novel -- you are still aware of the presence of another human being in your habitat.

It's quite refreshing. I have grown to love living alone, except when the weekends drag on Sunday with no prospects of doing anything; it is amazing to wake up in the empty solitude of a few sunlit rooms and boil water for coffee at your leisure. But still I enjoy the company in ways I'd forgotten. The anticipation of getting up and talking to someone. Sharing a bathroom. Staying up late talking and fighting sleep until the blood vessels in your eyes leak and the brain fuzziness reduces conversation to delirious mumbles.

It's wonderful to have people wander about your apartment looking at all your books (which are all yours). Fantastic to think that they drove six hours from Pennsylvania to spend a Saturday afternoon asleep on my floor.

Little routine-breaking miracles that braid one's internal monologues together.