Sitting In My Closet

I find that my closet is the default place I go to when I'm upset. I would say that I don't know why, because it's sort of an odd place to go, but I do know why.

Years ago when I was going through a painful divorce, I had a young child in the house with me who I didn't want to expose to adult problems. So I used to go lay on the floor in the master closet and cry, because it was the most removed place in the house and I felt like it was insulated by the most walls. It seemed the best chance for him not to hear me.

Almost 12 years later, when I'm having an "I just want to die" sort of day or moment, you'll find me in the closet. I wish I'd picked a different location to latch onto, because it's not the most comfortable place in the world. The floor is carpeted but it's hard. Sometimes it's cold. Sometimes it's hot. Usually I'm surrounded by shoes and dirty laundry, which is no big deal except when you live with a man who works out. But still I go in there because I've trained myself that this the place where I can land when I'm falling through life.

Yesterday I went to my closet so that I could write, which I've never done before. When I write I need to feel like nobody will interrupt me. I need to be able to detach from my body, in a way, so that the stuff that's being channeled through me can actually get onto the screen before it evaporates. And when someone is in the room with you, which my husband is a lot now that he works from home too, it's just hard. Not all the time, but sometimes.

So my thought yesterday was that I'd go shut myself in the closet, which is in the bathroom. Because generally when a person goes into a bathroom they expect that nobody else is going to try to barge in. I mean it's kind of an unwritten rule, right? And so I sat on the floor with my laptop and tapped out an 1800 word essay, which was rather good I think but that culminated in the ultimate backache.

I guess sometimes we just have to do what we have to do, and that was what I had to do yesterday. I feel like that essay was a lot less craptastic than the one I wrote last week, and I'm satisfied about that. But I still have more to do. Lots more to do.

Hopefully next time I can find a spot that is a little more kind to my back and butt.