Sometimes I like to have a good cry. If a movie really touches me, I want to let loose and sob, really make a lot of noise so my throat doesn't hurt by keeping it in. I don’t want to hold back. But I have to, because I live in a twin house and my kids live in the basement.
I’d love to be able to play my folky, oldies music at a high decibel level and sing while I’m cleaning. I want to prance and dance, flail my arms around, and turn the music up even louder. But I’d disturb a lot of people, because I live in a twin house and my kids live in the basement.
I’d love to sing in the shower at the top of my lungs, off-key or on, but it would be wrong to do, because I live in a twin house and my kids live in the basement.
I’d like to play the piano with gusto and pound nails in the walls to hang up my pictures and decorations—all late at night, as my circadian rhythm dictates. But, alas, it’s only a dream I have, because I live in a twin house and my kids live in the basement.
Sometimes, at night, I panic if I hear noises outside, but I don't have sleepless nights about it. I know if something happens people will be right on the scene with me to quell my fears. There is a lot of comfort in “living close.”
I love my house. It is the right size for me. It’s not too big and not too small. Though the walls and floors be thin, I know I’m blessed, and there are good neighbors and family I can count on if I’m in distress.
One day, if the kids are away, and the red truck is not in the driveway next door, I might do all these things I long to do. Right now I’ll just count my blessings and be glad I live in a twin house and my kids live in the basement.