My sister, who lives 1200 miles east of me, emailed me the other day that she hadn’t been out of the house in over 2 days and it was making her crazy. She quipped that she didn’t know how I did it. She said that because she knows that I’m never happier than when I home. It’s my own little sanctuary, a place of peace that I never tire of. Being out and about on the other hand, I’m not so fond of. I go to town more than I’d like too, but I could really skip it all together. It’s not that their's anything wrong with town. It’s about as nice a little community as you’re going to find in these parts. It’s just me. I’m built that way. I always have been. I mean look at that picture. My sister (wearing the red plaid coat) is happy as a lark sitting on the lap of some strange man that even a four year old had to know wasn’t Santa. Not me, I’m (the scraggly blond one) struggling to high tail it out of there. I felt the same way in kindergarten, and I still feel that way now. I can’t stand going to the dentist and having to endure some chatty stranger picking away at my teeth. I make myself go, because I do have some standards of decency and hygiene. But don’t even ask about the hair dresser. That I’d just rather do myself. I mean, I can live with a bad hair day, but make me smile and chat inanely for half an hour and I want to curl up into a ball and die. Okay, I know you’re thinking that I’m nuts. And maybe I am. But, as far as I can tell, we all are. And you know what? I’m happy, really, really happy.
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