It's been a bleaggghhhhh day. My teaching paycheck was (for various reasons) less than I'd expected it to be, which makes me feel not only badly surprised but demoralized as well (we're worth what we're paid, right?) (wrong, I know--but that's my first instinct, always); I'm tired; the library doesn't own any of the books on my list to read; I still haven't heard from the Big Important Person who was supposed to call me a week ago; it's Monday....okay, the list disintegrates into pathetic whining awfully quickly, so I'll just break it off there. But I've been feeling low all day. I spent the morning doing research at the university and then another hour and a half standing in long lines at different grocery shops and a post office downtown. In the middle, I treated myself with a Comfort Hour, went to the Starbucks in Borders and read Donald Maass's Writing the Breakout Novel: A Workbook over a small hot chocolate. It really did help, despite the anxiety issues roused by reading the book. (Which, I hasten to add, made lots of good points and was very useful. It just made me nervous and prickly to read, as many writing books do.)

Anyway, now that I'm back home and trying to roust myself out of my slump, I've gotten started thinking about what we do for comfort. Sitting in my living room, when I close my eyes and imagine what would feel really good and life-affirming right now, I see myself in a big comfy chair in a bookshop, with a stack of interesting books sitting next to me and an endless cup of coffee in my hand. Just imagining it, my shoulders relax, and warmth fills my chest.

What do other people imagine, when they think of comfort? Or is it bookstores for everybody? :) Leave a comment.