I pulled out a battered copy of Alden Nowlan’s Between Tears and Laughter yesterday. SR was on his way to Winterpeg for an industry schmoozefest and hootenany and I’d just returned home from the airport. There’s a poem in this book that captures the exact feeling of indulgence and hedonism I feel when I find myself alone in a space that is almost always shared.
I spent the night in my own company. I didn’t cook. I watched two full hours of the Simpsons. I cut my toenails in the living room. I left the extra quilt on the bed and stretched out like a starfish basking on a sandy beach. I reveled in the solitude.
“Not because I’m drunk or drugged
but because I’m happy and there’s nobody
else here, nobody, not even myself to deny me
the pleasure of going crazy.”