It’s Halloween today, and I didn’t do much in the spirit of things. I spent most of my time in the shop and in the car. I’m optimistic the carcasses will be assembled tomorrow, then I can sand the table tops. That means my computer will have something to rest on without falling onto the ground while I type on it.

I’d not realized how important my office is to me, my study, even. It’s not an enormously private space, it’s a thoroughfair. It’s the place between the world and our bedroom and Abby has got to go through it to get to bed and to get up. That’s just how I like it. Private, but between the people I love and the world, on the side of things that ain’t the world. 

I’ve written quite consistently here about my increasing introversion, and I’ve seldom felt it as strongly as when I got back from Roby’s first visit to the chiropractor. After an hour in the car and an hour in a stranger’s waiting room I all but ran into my shop, increasingly a place of comfort. 

Part of me hopes that once my office is done, that’ll be the place of retreat, the citadel. But the better part of me wants it to be the shop. That’s a far more productive spot, and I feel that being productive’s an icnreasingly important thing to be for me.