But I DO feel like the Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe. I have four kids. They range in age from adulthood down to Pirate Boy in first grade. Both my parents live with us. We have two dogs. We have a cat (who used to be called Pumpkin, but when my mom moved in, she HATES cats and nicknamed the cat "Fleabag"--this got shortened to Flea, as in the Red Hot Chili Peppers, and it has stuck). We have a hedgehog. (Again, the hedgehog used to be called Penelope, but now we all refer to her as Hedgie.) We have a snake. A python, actually. A ball python (they are smaller and calm and docile). It is not OUR python. It is my oldest son's python. When he leaves for college in two years, it must go to a good home because I loathe the snake. LOATHE it. Lydia (the snake) started out the size of a pencil. I rather liked her then. She is not, most assuredly, the size of a pencil now and I live my life in mortal terror of her escape, when I am certain she will seek me out (because she KNOWS I loathe her) and eat me. The fact that she really isn't THAT big (three feet or so) matters not one iota. I find my fear perfectly rational.
Anyway, my office is open on two sides. My dad sits in the next room and generally talks to me a lot of the day. This is not conducive to writing. Then there is the fact that I must chauffeur said children to various activities. The homework hour. The laundry all of them create. And so on and so on and . . . .
So I want my own shoe.
A little place of my own to write and escape. To run away from home to. A place that is QUIET. Very quiet. And ALL MINE.
I don't really expect that to happen. And I assume even if I HAD my own shoe, I would miss the chaos a bit.
But it's what I crave and it's my pipe dream after all.
How about you? Ever long for some SPACE? QUIET? What?