I am, I am, I am.

I am getting excited about the mornings again, to get up, sit down, and write. I haven't had this feeling in a very long time. Being a responsible lone parent means that I would often allow myself to be overcome by thinking and dealing with responsibilities and commitments when I first open my eyes. Not necessarily the only way to go, but it seems that I got myself stuck. It also seems that I am getting myself out of this, slowly but surely. I am more capable of giving when I am nurtured, and I haven't been nurturing myself in a very long time. I think the last time I was feeling truly at home this way, inside my body, was back when I was still in my Dekweneh apartment, a year ago. My soul is starved...

To wake up in the morning, in tune with my own thoughts around myself, my wellbeing, my state of mind, my feelings, and most importantly, desires, needs, and wants, seems to be the utmost privilege these days. For sure, it doesn't need to be this way, after all, I am an artist and a creator, and everything I do stems from within me. If within is rustic, neglected, rotten, then what can I produce, then what can I create, and who would I be without my creations and my doing? 

I am trying hard this week to clear my system from the toxic things I stuff my face with. As usual, it's proving to be hard, and I didn't go cold turkey, but slowly easing into it, one meal / snack / drink at a time. A binge, emotional eater is destined to deal with any distress through overeating. I have been overeating my whole grown up life. Perhaps when I was younger even, perhaps since ever. It only started to show when I was 13 years old, and it's the memory the most vivid of me consciously choosing to try and numb myself out with food. It happened after a heartbreak, my first. 

This country is limiting, the options are restricted, my responsibilities are crippling, however, I am not my responsiblities, nor this current situation, or this messed up country. I so happen to be here, in this time and place, but I shall come back to the space I hold within, I must remember, I must stay true to the voice within. 

Facebook reminded me today of a post I was tagged in back in 2015. It was by my bookish friend Hoda who tagged me in it, a photo of a pendant I made her with the words I AM I AM I AM, referring to Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar. The pendant lays against the cover of the book. I never got so much into Sylvia Plath, but that book read back then did touch a nerve. 

I suppose in lots of ways, I needed to see this today. 

A very tiring day

The cat is very hyper today. She behaved differently lately, I am assuming it can be the spaying. We spayed her two weeks ago. I noticed recently that she has been peeing in my plant. It's a first. Today she teared down the corner of the net window and escaped to the balcony. I am always bringing her to the balcony with me, lately even I've been letting her on the ground for a while, I just have to keep watching closely and block her jumping, many birds fly by frequently. 

I asked the vet earlier and he only just got back to me. He said it takes up to a month after the operation for her hormones to settle. We're two weeks in now. Boy oh boy! As if I needed another hormonal creature around the house with us! 

I'm trying to keep my calm and focus on my routine and day, unfortunately it's being a little tricky to achieve. But I moved things around yet another time. Just in the office, I moved my work station in a way where I can have the most day light on my bench. 

The weather has gotten increasingly warm in the last few days, peeking yesterday, with hot air and an invasion of some sort of bugs. Today it's changing, it's been cloudy since the morning, and now the temperature has dropped. Looks like it's going to rain soon, there must be a storm coming. 

We didn't have a winter winter this season, it was either sunshiny warm and bright with blue skies, or stormy with thunder, lightning, rain / snow, and wind. I suppose this country goes by extreme everything. This whole part of Earth is messed up in a very sad way. I am yet to belong... 

I posted a little something earlier in the morning, not my own writing, but still, I could have done without writing. I did feel the urge to write though, and while doing other things, I kept thinking of the content. This is a good sign finally; my faculties are slowly coming back to life. I am yet to get back to reading again, but I'm in no rush.

I am slowly able to see clearly just what damage the last year has brought unto my system. Though it was very harsh on my nerves, but I think I was doing OK (ish) until before the explosion. Clear signs of depression could be remembered now, especially on the few days after our last move... 

In her memory...

"In her memory I build boundaries that are made of Roses and Nettles, Wolves and Bears, Oak and Witches. 

I stand up straighter, stronger, when I remember her.

The memory of that young and fragile thing, so broken and so magical, reminds me to respect and honour the depths within my heart these days.

I listen to her and remember her knowing, before the breaking and the wounding misguided her.

So lost was she, that now, I make sure to let my heart guide me home,

to a sense of belonging within.

I oil my body in sweet plant oils, to honour her pain, her tenacity.

Paying attention to the scars, the tightness and the tender hopes held within flesh and muscle memory.

I rest in the forest and listen.

Letting her know, I understand now, 

that she really did hold a wildness so real, so alive, and it’s here still, beating within.

No one took it, or destroyed it,

and I’m coming back home, to that place,

so together we can rise.

For she is me, and I am her, and I’m learning to rest back in my original nature, my beauty, my braveness,

my wild."

Brigit Anna McNeill 

Grandmother's song

I'm sipping on perfectly foamy and smooth Turkish coffee. I bought this batch of coffee last week, at a specialty store, on our way to Saida. We used to always get coffee to our people there on our way, it became a tradition of a sort. The aroma of coffee has always been very enticing to me, but until recently, I was not a coffee person. The guy from the shop approached us in the car and asked if we wanted the order brought to us in the car. I was already out of the car by this stage, I told him we're getting in. I've put the stupid mask on and got inside with my sister. I waited until she put her order, then I requested mine, after a little investigation. It is her mix I am taking, two thirds blonde, one third dark, and extra cardamon. He scooped the coffee beans from the huge container in front of us, added the cardamon, and put the mix inside the electrical coffee grinder. Packed inside a paper bag, handed to us with extra cardamon written on it. We ordered some few other bags to take with us, different mixes. The aroma of all that coffee inside the car was so sensational, tormenting too as there was nothing we could do but inhale it in and wait until we have some nice coffee soon. 

I didn't have nice coffee until now. I made it with pure cane brown sugar, and boiled it only very gently to perfection. 

I am not a coffee or cigarettes person, generally speaking, yet I seem to be really enjoying myself engaging in such rituals of recent. In lots of ways, I wish to know what it feels like to do those, ritualistically, routinely. Both my parents were smokers and did coffee, regularly. I was not of coffee age when I passed. I miss them. 

The missing, and writing about it, can go on forever, it is when I am not missing that I should get concerned. I tend to block myself from feeling very often, in order to be in my yang state, and get things done. I haven't had a man in my life, in the proper sense of it, in a truly long time. Perhaps I never had one, involved directly in my life, since father passed away. In lots of ways, I feel I am getting into my father, in order to give myself, and my daughter, what we need. When I was a child, one of my nickname used to be Mahmoud. Endearingly, close people to the family would call me by his name, because of the resemblance. My child mind could never comprehend then the similarity, I would look at our faces, and never be able to see it. As the years went by in my adult life, I started to know truly, deep within, what that entailed. I am truly Mahmoud and Haybet, and my writing journey will enclose many words about them. 

I've made it through three cups of coffee, flipped my cup upside down, will get Yasmina to read my fortune, for fun, mostly hers, as she has been finding immense pleasure in such witchy musings and activities lately. 

In the background, I've been playing on repeat a newly discovered song called "I hear the voice of my grandmother's calling me...", I shared it with my cousin to show it to Mila, her daughter. Mila is a very special child girl, and to some extent, I feel I truly know her. Her grandma, my auntie from my mother's side, passed away a year and half ago. They buried inside my mother's grave, it was her wish, and in Islam this is something that could be done. Cousin Hisham, who came from the States to be his mother for the last moments, ended up burying her himself. He described to me how they gathered the bones of my mother, put them together inside a bag, move aside, and then in her place, the body of my auntie was placed. I got the chills when he told me, but in lots of ways, it made me content in some sort of strange way. 

"I hear the voice of my grandmother's calling me... 
I hear the voice of my grandmother's song...
Saying: wake up, wake up child, wake, wake up. Listen, listen... 
Saying: stand in your power woman, stand in your power. Listen, listen... 
Saying:give birth, give life woman, give birth, give life mother. Listen, listen... 
Saying: teach and be wise, grow, teach and be wise. Listen, listen..."

Integration

It's a peaceful day, I haven't felt as quiet and as calm inside in a while. A lot of it has to do with going out and finally finishing some over due work trips and errands, but also the fact that I am back actively to my jewelry work bench. I worked for several hours yesterday and today, and I didn't feel the pains. I have been a little bit apprehensive about getting back on track, as I've injured my shoulder badly few months back, and it never healed. 

I have forgotten how therapeutic it is being there; the creativity flows effortlessly. There's healing beyond simple words could possibly describe. With every little piece created, and through all the little steps taken in the procedure, a release of massive energy takes place. I was reminded of the pure bliss I used to feel in my most creative, most productive days behind my work bench years ago, they used to involve my family life with Chris. Isn't it something that I keep processing, dealing with, and releasing, all things emotions, feelings, and affections that has to do with Chris! You would think it should be well over and behind now, I did too, but it's not. 

There are parts of me I've let go of, the moment I've let go of Chris. I am claiming those parts back now, though it's a very painful process, and I had thought I was done with the most painful phases before.

Putting together one's broken pieces is never easy. I am very broken; a big part of my very soul left with Chris, and I need all of my being to be full and complete again. Perhaps then I will be able to stop all the many self destructive coping mechanisms. Perhaps with every new jewelry piece I create now, a little something of me will be integrated again.

I need something to consume all of me, like my love and devotion and dedication for Chris used to consume me all and keep me alive. I haven't even come close to finding my true writing voice yet, but at least my hands can work other things, until then. 

There's a beautiful cool breeze, and though I have the heater on, the window is open. I've been puffing more cigarettes. That oral fixation of mine!

I can hear beautiful silence, and the owl just howled...

I'll go to my bench now, a specific piece in mind is calling.  

Blocked roads

I've been staring at the screen for a little while, not sure what I wish to capture. It's being very challenging trying to make sense of the mess that is our country lately. We have new lousy changes every single day. It's Monday morning and I have set myself to kick start work for the week, but roads blocking by protesters is back yet again. This is supposed the first week practically lockdown free. 

I'm fortunate to be made to work from home, and having done so for well over a decade. The need to be out, however, running errands for the business, getting inspired by the motion of life, is needed, and does affect my productivity and creativity. I suppose I do miss and need those at this stage. I managed without as long and I pushed as far as I could have up until this moment, hence why the frustration this morning. 

Set backs are crippling, but I shall find a new way to get past beyond this, and to be rejoined with my initial goals, connecting with the dreams, and getting into the flow. 

On another note, I have started to embrace spring, cool and warm days and nights, new sounds, colors, shapes and forms. Also the sky, a mix of both worlds, it can't be that bad, though very soul keeps longing for authumn all year long! 

"He believes in beauty and gentle."

This one isn't so great a morning. I am home now, I ended up sleeping over at my friend's place in the mountain last night. I can be very talkative around close friends, and rather reserved around not so close people. Hanging out with friends is a rare thing for me, I do it very sporadically, because I can be very intense and it can be hard work. Talking is opening up, giving and receiving too. I need resting afterwards, I will shower shortly and have a nap. Thought to get on with today's post before I lose myself to the day shortly. I'm overwhelmed by the mountain of feelings inside me that I can see, touch, and feel ever so often, even and especially when I am away from Home. We listened to Portishead and Bjork last night, I couldn't hold my tears in, but I did try to hide them. I haven't listened to Portishead since I was with Chris, years ago. I haven't realized how fragile I am still deep inside, I am running away from all those feelings, the longing, the missing, the huge void, by keeping busy. If not, than that's exactly how it felt last night, and is feeling right now. I'm simply unable to stop the crying, my heart is not vacant, it's filled with the love I have for those very few, very special people in my life. Chris is one of them, and I miss the days, our days, the nights too, with music, and his beautiful openness, his eagerness for life, his many passions, and his letting me into his world, with the music, and the lyrics, and the many sounds. Also, the sights, especially that of his gracious face. 

Some mornings

Mornings are enticing. I am awake very early often times only just to witness them. If I'm tired and sleepy, then I go back to sleep a little after. Today in particular it felt so fresh and beautiful. I had a very enticing dream. I was in a country side, super green, super sheltered place. Several small cozy buildings joined together, pretty old. I am gathered with some of my very special and dear friends on the rooftop of one of them. We are discussing news of the move, as though my whole tribe has only just moved here. I am learning about the residency of the rest of the members. I was told that Elizabeth Gilbert, who apparently is my favorite person / friend in the dream, has bought that small one next to us. I look at where they pointed, and it's a shorter building than ours, tinier and cozier looking. The rooftop is filled with average sized super green trees, all blossoming. I smile at the sight, but really I felt my heart smiling. When I love someone, my whole being smiles at them, or the thought of them, or the idea of their very existing, or ever have existed. Elizabeth Gilbert used to be my most favorite author, I think she still might be, but I haven't been able to read her anymore. I am not able to read much lately anyway. I impulsively bought her latest book City of Girls a while book online, of course it was first edition and hardcover and I didn't pay attention to that, so I couldn't read it. I dislike hardcover books and can hardly read them, I prefer paperbacks, and the smaller, the better. Back to the dream however, it felt like missing of that good old friend, who feels like family more so than a mere friend. The dream carried on with other happenings, as though we were all getting integrated with our new environment and set up. The next day, I wake up and gathering with them again, I learn about the death of Elizabeth, Liz. My heart sank in a well of pain and sorrow instantly. The pain was so shocking and deep it woke me up from the dream. 

My relationship with death is an old one. Long before I last my father when I was 18, I used to imagine scenarios of losing my loved ones, and crying. I remember very clearly that nothing specific used to induce such thoughts. They used to appear out of nowhere, perhaps they are rooted at my early realization of the eventual fatality of our existence. I also recall the early moments when I started to have anxiety around the idea of my loved ones leaving me. These weren't merely thoughts, they used to occur to me as though to alert me of what is to come in the future. 

Cat just slept in my lap as I rocked her while humming as I type, and now I'm feeling sleepy again but I must get ready, I'm actually going out, a proper outing, for the very first time in a good while. 

Death topic will resume time and again for sure. 

Poisonous state

It's a good March morning. The air is nice and fresh, there is a cold breeze, but also the sun is shining gently. The birds are singing like their usual, I could recognize few different new sounds. It must be a sign of spring; our first in this apartment. We reach equinox again soon, it's been a little over 6 months since we've been here. The changes of cycles is beautiful to witness, when there's room. I am slowing things down today, his week has been very hectic. I'm finding myself swept away by errands, chores, jobs, and commitments. 

Cat was with me, we seem to almost always spend few moments together in the morning. Some cuddles, food serving, outside world gazing from the balcony, brushing, purring, cigarettes puffing, jumping and climbing on lap and chest, purring, coffee sipping, more purring, occasional meowing.

There was a lot to write about this week had I had the mind for it. Poor mind seems to be constantly overwhelmed. When I say constantly, I mean whenever I'm either outside, or inside with company. I miss my good old routine of doing days home alone, and then a couple of days outside weekly, to finish errands and work, and the minimal socialising needed. 

These extremes now with lockdowns, curfews and whatnot, since before the plandemic, since the so called revolution in Autumn 2019, have totally messed up with my system. All I seem to be doing is stuffing my face through these apocalyptical times, waiting for the madness to wane, or for something new to sprout, for the world to go back to being not as messed up, for our country to be less asleep. 

I started a new diet on Monday morning, I'm supposed to go cold turkey, in order to undo the damage of February and reboot my system from the last few years. Photos on laptop and old ones on my social media accounts show clearly that my body started to deteriorate approximately 5 years ago. My hair started to go bad and thinning drastically, the chronic pains, the stiffness, the sciatica, general chronic pains. It was never aging really, but living toxically. They say aging, physically, is a sign of excess toxins. I read recently somewhere defining "poison" from a shamanic point of view: Anything beyond what we need is poison. It can be power, laziness, food, ego, ambition, vanity, fear, anger or whatever. Have I been too ambitious? Have I always lead a poisonous life lead by too much passion? How does one find balance when one's very neutral state is Extreme? 

Enough musing, I shall start this day, take photos of beautifully customized jewelry pieces, with customers' names on them. Too much ego? Perhaps poison is essence!

Ah, to be alive...

Sweet and tender

 A piece of Cote d'Or dark chocolate is melting inside my mouth. A mixed herbal tea is setting inside my cup, inside it is a teaspoon of honey. Not the market stuff, some exquisite honey sold seasonally only by my friend's brother in the mountains. All good anything comes from the mountains. I love the mountains, and exquisite everything. 

Soon I will bite into my last couple of chocolate pieces from the bar, and will start sipping on my tea shortly too. When I finish, I will be craving sweet everything all over again. Craving sweet, tender, and comfort has been the story of my life. The most traumatising moment of my childhood as far back as I could remember was the first day at school. The extremes between the sweet, tender and comfort at home, and the bitter, harsh and cold at school was shocking, so much so that I could still remember the moment today, and many other days that followed after. I was only three years old... 

Sweet, tender, and comfort was people too. Husbands, brothers, sister, mother, father, friends, random people too. Sweet, tender and comfort has never lasted though, it's short and brief and leaves me craving for more. Sweet, tender and comfort is Home. I am always missing Home... 

Sweet, tender, warm and comfort was Chris, he was many things more too. 

Chris was Home. 

I miss Home. 

Touching base

I can't remember how I ended up being so exhausted last week, but I do remember crashing in bed way after midnight, and thinking to myself I missed posted for that day. I thought to myself it would be Friday and Saturday off blogging, then Sunday I will resume again. I kind of did the same the week before, I needed at last a day or two to rest, from all the doing and going, even when it's as essential, as beneficial as my very personal blogging. 

Waking up this morning, I thought I needed to prioritise again. We're already half way through this new week, and I still didn't blog. Not only did I miss my daily thing, but also, I am binge eating again, and I feel swept away by the days and the demands of our life. I need to slow things down, the extremes have played havoc on my body and mind. Writing allows me, no it forces me, to slow down. It is meditative, contemplative, reflective, and grounding. 

This is why I need it, it isn't a simple desire or a project or a plan... 

Now, here, I've done. It's good to touch base. Now I must start my day, this is a self reminder of self love. 

Mundane

I'm weary today, got so much done, home and at work. Work is home, lockdown was never an issue to me. I do miss the little outings, such as the post office to dispatch orders, the mall for shopping, and the supermarket trips. I used to go out once or twice a week, when I end up having to do more trips during the week, it used to disrupt my flow of work and mess with my routine, and peace.

 

I met a couple of new people on Tinder today, everybody seems to want to talk about the lockdown and the virus and the vaccine and what I think, and what they think, and and... 

I used to have dreams of apocalyptical nature. These days I meditate to be able to day dream / dream about normal, mundane life.

Sleep things over

Today the cat was in a mood. I'm learning about her a little more every new day. I gave her space, she spent it mostly sleeping, and avoiding us. Purring went down from frequent to a couple of times all day.

On another note, I did stretching for the first since last week. My sciatica is killing me, I'm in continuous pain day and night. I should stick to yoga again, it seems to truly help. 

I spent few minutes in tinder today, the number of shallow, silly, and immature 40 and 50 something Lebanese men is worrying.

I must sleep, need for this day to be over! 

Vanter

I'm on my laptop using Blogger from desktop for the first time in a while.

I started my day before the sun today, right on time for the magic. 

I smoked some more. Little kitty meowed hard, I finished my cigarette and brought her outside on the balcony with me. On the first day I let her out with us on the floor, she tried to jump, scared the hell out of us, I never let her out without carrying her since. She's meowing a little more every new day, she's starting to ask for things, they're cute little sounds. She's communicating with us well, and she plays with us, her favorite is catch me if you can game. She jumps so fast and quick from one corner to the other, climbs so fast on everything and anything, and we chase her and sometimes too she hides. We haven't named her yet, many names suit her and her personality, but must we really? We will see. 

Yasmina just went out to harvest some wild sage, she discovered several bushes in her walk in the woods around the house. When I say house I really mean our compound, that ugly block of ugly tall buildings, with dirt, rubbish and ugly random everything. I am grateful to be here, with a bit of greenery and many quiet moments, but I can't help getting passionate about fixing things, bettering is a better word, bettering the world, sounds fitting. That sums up me in a lot of ways, a world bettering girl, in a very ugly part of the world. 

I could write essays about how much I dislike Lebanon, it simply isn't home, it never was. I have extremely vivid memories when I was 3 years old or so, and my very first encounters with the outside world, talk about ugly!  

The cat is climbing on my desk these days, getting more familiar with her surrounding, making it her home, and I was particularly fond of those moments she spent with me a couple of nights ago, as I worked alone in my office / workshop room, like I usually do. It felt less lonely, not that I could ever have humans with me when I'm working as such, but an animal, a pet!? did sound (look / feel) quite fitting. 

I have the boiler on since I got up, I was a night showerer my whole life, but lately I've turned into a morning showerer. Dictionary is correcting me for showerer, well I am going using it anyway! What I do miss however, is long days and nights of hibernating, not getting ready for anything at all, stretched hours of nothingness, attending to nothing and no one. I miss 2014 in particular, a year where I decided to take things easy, I read 50 books or so that year, probably 20% of what I've read my whole life then. 

Anyway, enough banter. I shall start my day already! Venting really, vanter, venter, banting, benting, vanting. (dictionary doesn't approve of any of those either, dictionaries are overrated.)

It is what it is

My heart is heavy with pain and sadness. I could've called my state of mind / being a depressed one, except I know these days that unprocessed emotions / feelings would lead naturally to this stagnant place of despair.

I am smoking these days, I puff few cigarettes every now and then, on the balcony. In the morning under the sunlight, or late at night with the breeze. I've learned quite a bit about the many breathing techniques, and the healing that comes with it, yet at times, the only proper exhaling I can do is through puffing a stupid little cigarette. It's a breakthrough of a sort considering how much I consume things into my body when I am emotional, not releasing anything hardly. 

This is how I managed to put on and keep the fat I carry with me all those years, this is how I get to keep my shattered pieces together my whole life. It is sad, and boy do I keep trying to break this pattern! 

I don't just carry that body weight, but also the weight of years worth of grief. 

I am learning still to be expressive about my deepest feelings, but the words often fail me, and my mind is simply not sharp anymore. 

This is the very thing that years of numbing could do. 

I'm trying to sober up, wake myself up, but some things I'm simply not able to shake off yet. 

Perhaps I will succeed in doing so one day, and if not, then "it is what it is", as a friend of mine says when asked about his feelings sometimes! 

Froggy!

The sound of frogs is back.

Spring is in the air. 

It's very melancholic.

I haven't begun to enjoy winter yet. 

The days are fast. 

I did not wish to write. 

Something is wrong. 

I need to fix that. 

I finished the season before last of Orange is the new black. 

It was bad. 

I must sleep. 

I don't like February. 

Foggy

There's a fog inside my head, it's keeping my brain from functioning properly. I tried hard getting grounded and centered today, and I simply couldn't remove this sense of dread that has overcome me. It's one of those days, and I wasn't sure whether or not to skip a day blogging, in order to keep the content topic based like I intended to for this month. But then I thought I owe it to myself to keep going, and perhaps a reason more to do so when I feel like skipping, and typically, numbing...

Psithurism

I was awoken by the sound of the trees. I mistook it for rain at first, then I remembered that the weather is totally dry these days. 

There is a name for this sound, I just couldn't remember it. As I googled it, I contemplated the fact that my memory has drastically weakened in the recent years. 

In 2016 I was set to start writing a draft for a book project. The book was going to be a memoir of a sort, the chapters a memory each. The memories are moments and contemplations from my life and its events up until that moment. 

I wonder now whether part of my weakened memory is due to the pain caused by dropping all those projects I had intended to finish.

"It takes a village to raise a child".

... So the African proverb goes.

It was very warm today, for February anyway. The strong warm wind made it impossible not to feel spring nearing. This summer daughter turns 16. 

My baby is becoming a young woman.

17 years of cultivating this village inside me, so I could be everyone and everything for her. An ideal world I so naively thought would naturally exist at the magnificence and magic that was her birth. It turns out I was the only one in tune with the bliss that is our existence, and I wake up every morning excited as if I've just landed and the present day is indeed a present. 

Alas, our modern civilized world is a vacant one, bereft from meaningful connections, oblivious to the interconnectedness between us humans, and the many different generations.

Kitten

When I was a child, a black cat used to roam around our shop. Sometimes I was allowed to play with her. I didn't really, I just got close a little. Our encounters were mostly sharing snacks. I would give the cat half of each of my cheese puffs! I can't remember when or how but I was once attacked by that very cat. It was decided then that I was not a cat person. Trust is important for me you see. When I open up, when I share, it means something!

This post ought to have been a much better one, but my day was taken up by accommodating our newly adopted cat. As she finally climbed up on my chest and started purring loudly continuously for nearly 10 minutes, I tried to gather my thoughts and ideas for the 100th times today, with no luck.

I purred inside too, I thought there are many more days in February, maybe this one is just meant to be kitty focused. 

She's 7 months old, I haven't named her yet.

For now, more important decisions are at stake; let her sleep in my bed / my room / or outside altogether!?