Today wasn’t about watching or looking out my window or observing that world flowing around me, it was about building up myself in my own house, making this place my own, somewhere I feel safe, comfortable, and like myself. To befriend the stranger, to bring the cold corners of the room to light, to press forward.

So I hit the thrift stores and the mattress store in the mall to begin stocking the more important rooms of the house. I managed to find a couch in decent condition that I think I’ll just throw a sheet or two on top to hide the hideous fabric and take a bottle of Febreeze to kill the musty smell from the cushions.

A queen sized mattress for my queen sized frame (they’re not cheap, either, but these are the bullets you bite when you move light) – and yes, you might find it too spacious, a bed that begs for another body. Perhaps. But it’s comfy, and it’s spacious and you can roll around and curl the blankets up tight and sprawl and spread and if that’s not heaven and a place of escape I don’t know what is.

A couple more posters, some long and narrow with bright warm-colored tropical flowers and sunset patterns to add a bit more spice, to hide a bit more of the emptiness, to extinguish the idea of the sign that might dangle beyond the door, an invitation,

“No vacancy, no more room in the inn,” I say, looking out the gauzy curtains at the front of the house. “This is my home.”

And so it was. Finally feeling like mine, I cooked dinner here tonight (a tasty chicken salad), and watched a movie that I fell asleep in the middle of (a Patrick Dempsey movie – sorry!! I’m a little ashamed of myself for that one), waking up just an hour ago with enough energy to get ready for bed and write up a quick summary of the day.

It’s nice though. I like this.

Every day I was looking at the blank walls and the empty rooms felt like a prison cell, a temporary confinement like a hidden corner in a game of hide and go seek, my back to the past and my head buried in my hands, mumbling about how the monsters won’t find me. It felt like a lie, too temporary, too fake.

So tomorrow I’m going to open up the drapes, let in a little of this fleeting springtime sunlight, make breakfast, crack a window and let the breeze roll through, take a walk and smell the flowers – maybe I’ll even knock on a door or two and meet the neighbors.

Maybe this move wasn’t such a bad idea. Maybe it wasn’t running away. Maybe it’ll work out. I’ve got hope, and tonight at least, a smile too.

“Time for bed,” I say to the dark that surrounds the computer screen. “Time for a sweet sleep in a real bed and a morning with birds chirping and a fresh perspective.”

The only response, my refrigerator creaking and the distant hiss and groan of the cars outside the window.