The word comfort has such a diverse meaning. And others’ example of comfort is certainly different from the next. My idea of comfort is what’s going on right now (I have to blame the personality type that I am for this, as I am not one to prepare for comfort or creativity): a very cold, rickety old house in a run-down urban city. It smells like stale food and animals, combined with the fireplace and cigarette smoke. I’m wearing a big sweater, but my nose is cold. I am sitting at the dining table, dad is in the kitchen with his house shoes on, shuffling from one corner to the next, talking to the dogs and preparing his chicken for the grill outside. The news station at a dull roar in the living room. It’s been a gloomy day, cold and windy, but every song on pandora has been speaking to me, and I have not gotten this much work done or felt this creative in such a long time.
This is what comfort means to me.