…to start writing again. Here. There. Everywhere.

It seems settling in sends one signals. On some higher plane of existence — some vague level of animal existence — there is a hierarchy of space and mind. Food, shelter, safety: these all rank near the foundation of that preferential needs pyramid. Entertainment, stability, well-being: tucked neatly into the middle somewhere. Creation: well, it’s the point at the top.

Take many animals for example. In zoos, they will not mate / reproduce / create offspring until they are well-fed, safe, and content that their world is secure and entertaining.

I think I can be the same way: with security looming on the horizon, time seems to be my only issue — and I’m scoring that in leaps and bounds as I cut off my commute, cut off my laundry duty, and cut down on my dishes-chores.

That peak is in sight. I think I could almost start writing again: what? That’s a different question.