Yet I always forget just how peaceful this house is, even with all the affectionate insults and laughter and injokes and chaos and music that abound here; it's comfortable, like old boots (or old books, of which my room is still full) or soft sofas. The curtains in my room are so thick that I can sleep forever if uninterrupted; I woke at 12:05pm, and Lorna would probably still be sleeping now if we hadn't woken her up at 2:15pm. Tomorrow she and I will have our traditional session of haggling over the time that she can wake me on Christmas morning; she opens the bidding at 6 a.m., I start at 10 a.m., and we arrive at a midpoint somewhere around 8 a.m. (rather too early for me). Tonight will see the equally-traditional rituals of decorating the tree -- rituals which would make no sense anywhere outside the family, and which I couldn't even call to mind now; they will only be unlocked by the keys of the decorations themselves, lifted carefully from their packaging.
Perhaps I'll write about that tomorrow. Or perhaps I'll just sleep in, get up late, wander around the house, and luxuriate in the knowledge that despite all my plans for reading, writing, and otherwise constructively faffing, I don't really need to do anything or be anywhere. I am happy here.
