Air is Important, but not in the way you think

in Entertaining nonsense and profound thought

I  don’t know why I didn’t post this when I wrote it – September of last year. And I don’t have time to put up the next installment of the shirt, so here you go. Only six months late!

I spent two days last week writing in the best writing space ever. It’s a room over a friend’s garage. It’s got nice big windows and good air, and a really comfy chair. Make that three really comfy chairs. One for the desk, and two for the sitting area. I’ll ask if I can post pictures. If it was my house I totally would. I’ve been liking writing outdoors a lot. But now that it’s starting to cool down, I’m looking for inside spaces. The ones at home are blah, and tend to be in traffic – not nice and secluded which is what I need to write well.

The air in a room is important to me. It makes me happy if it feels a certain way. Not that I can’t right if the air isn’t good, but that writing is a joy in the right environment. The right air feel – for lack of a better term – is huge for me. It’s a mixture of fresh air, and temperature and humidity and fragrance and movement – and the list could go on and on. I like the air to slip across my skin, not be sticky. I like a breeze. I like to be cool.

The best sleep is when the air is right mid-afternoon. On top of the quilt, warm enough that I don’t feel cold. Not too hot. The air soothes it’s not full of energy to disrupt me. Just thinking about it makes me drift in my chair. Lulled by the thought, but still concious – searching for that feel.

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