Whatever my dad's watching in the next room, it's probably one of those old films that are always on aroundandabout Christmas time. The music kind of gives it away. And it's that sort of thing that he watches.
I'm alone. Girlfriend is at work and nobody, not even the cat, is in this room with me. I've spent my day doing miscellaneous minor errands - some of which useful, some of which not - and, in fairness, enough time during the late afternoon playing Super Smash Bros. on my 2DS. My parents have cooked something and none of it's for me, so I'm considering what to cook for dinner myself. And I've just logged on to write a post.
This all seems achingly familiar. For the past two or three years I've spent a long time being unavailable for comment by virtue of being at work or too tired to do anything about anything. To be fair, I'm still tired... but, on account of the fact that I've done virtually nothing today, I almost feel like I'm back in time, sitting on my own writing posts like this one and generally, if not actually, quite enjoying myself, on account of the fact that I'm doing relatively little in the grand scheme of things.
I was always the most content when I got a little time to myself, and more so in our old house, where my room was much bigger and airier and more homely (dear Glod, I miss it). I have flashbacks to times when there was no job, and either no girlfriend to speak of or one who lived out. There were even times when my parents weren't around for whatever reason - in 2007 I had a job which I finished at 12 every day, so cycled home and had a few precious afternoon hours to myself, which consisted mostly of sing, dance, write and wank.
Those were the best days so far. The ones that inspired me. The ones that gave me space... the ones that let me breathe.
And yet every now and again a moment like this comes up when I can just feel everything in the right place at the right time.
It can be glorious.