a room of one's own

If there's one thing i miss about my life in the US, it's my apartment. I still think the place was a Godsend -- within 15 minutes' walking distance of everything, the bus-stop just across the road, my favourite Asian comfort-food just 3 minutes' walk away, the giant supermart 5 mins away (brisk walking), or, if one is trundling one of those 'aunty' grocery carts, maybe 10 minutes tops. And the only reason i'm not listing the rest of the modcons in my immediate vicinity is because a computer science student at The Third School once warned me -- very sensibly, of course -- never to reveal your residence-location online where strangers might have access to the information.
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And it's not just the location. It's the apartment itself. I love it, and, truth be told, i love what i've done with it -- just the right size for me, and that wonderful 'walk-in wardrobe' that all my visitors ooh and aah over. And what i miss most: lounging on the couch late at night, with the music on -- maybe Bach's violin sonatas or cello suites, or some Chopin; and reading in that nocturnal stillness.
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i guess i'll just take W's advice when i go back: i'll cook up a bubble for myself and invite a few people in, to insulate myself from all the stuff there that gets to me. And the rest of the time, i'll have to work on my writing and teaching, anyway, so i guess there won't be too much time for moping.
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