I'm tired, but don't feel like going to bed. I want to keep reading a book I've read before, on the couch in the living room, covered with an Indian print sheet of fabric I picked up in Galway. The quiet cleanliness of the living area and the sound of a light rain pattering on the poplar leaves outside is a balm on what ails me.

I don't really know what ails me. Nothing new, I suppose.

Cigarettes I light, burn too quickly in the ashtray. There isn't enough time from when I wake up to going back to bed to fit in all the leisure activities I want to indulge in. I guess this is where the wish to be independently wealthy comes in.

Grateful for joy in small places.
- I still have a carton of 'Irish' cigarettes left in the freezer.
- there was no ring on his left hand.
- my washing machine works perfectly.
- the water that comes out of the faucet is hot and ready.
- Matt gave us a preview of a track from upcoming album on his website.
- my living room is unpacked and I have a new reading perch.
- the wind billows the dining room curtains in a quiet wispy way.
- the rain.
- I have 14 new-to-me movies to get through.
- Bailey is starting to forgive me.
- my laptop still plays music to me, like a lover.
- I bought a new copy of Micheal Clayton and have watched it 3 times since I got home.

Above photo was taken shortly before we left Inishbofin to get back to mainland in Ireland. I lagged behind, smoking and taking photos. Thinking to myself. Lighting more cigarettes.

I'm told one will be in a funk after a vacation. While feeling not too bad, there are small periods of melancholy that sneak in. I take this to be normal. For me, anyhow. I catch myself planning another big move and mentally tell myself to stop, enjoy the current location as it's only been a couple of months and everything is good here (so far). I feel like a shark that can't stop moving.

I feel like I could like the taste of blood.

Labels: depression, joy in small places, melancholy, settling, settling in