I'm sitting on a green velvet sofa as I write this.

It's the one I bought after I sold my house and moved into a tiny space, the kind of impractical, gorgeous, slightly too much piece of furniture that has no business in a small living room. I bought it anyway. It is currently covered in a dog, a laptop, and me, mid sentence, thinking about how I got here.

Last night I was cooking dinner. Music was playing, the kind that gets into your shoulders before you notice, and I started singing. Then I started dancing a little, right there at the stove, for no one. No audience. No reason except that the song was good and my body wanted to move.