strike that

surrounded

There are eight people sleeping in my house right now who don’t live here. Downstairs are the folks in from Eugene: Julie and Pede in the living room, Joe in the library, John in the tea room. Upstairs are Beth and Sarah from Seattle in the art room, and Sharon – who is in from San Francisco and the cause of all this – and Jamie who just didn’t feel like driving home late, in my room. I’m in my housemate Jamey’s room. Jamey is off hiking somewhere.

There were even more people just a little while ago, fifteen of us playing Celebrities in front of the fireplace, drinking hot cider and eating Deb’s broccoli cornbread. Joshua popped corn. Sarah baked cookies. Thirteen of the fifteen of us have landscape architecture degrees, so there were a lot of design names in the Celebrities bowl. But there was also Bertrand Russell and Big Bird and Maya Angelou.

I love a house full of people. I love that right now all around me are these people I love, sleeping and reading and quietly talking. I spent the first seventeen years of my life in a giant house with just my parents, and that doesn’t suit me at all. I like the sounds of the bathroom sink and feet on the stairs. I like that someone will make a pot of tea in the morning, and scramble lots of eggs, and someone will wash all the mugs. It feels safe and it feels – what is the opposite of lonely? It feels like a holiday.

posted by tortaluga @ 2:14 AM