There are days when the hours seem too short for me to be able to accomplish what concerns me. It dawns before I can even get enough sleep and with my eyes still closed I am already on my way to work. Every minute of the day seems to run fast and there is no time to think about anything other than my job. I feel like I have left the Hobbiton for days now and I wish I could return to the warmth of my tiny house enjoying the warmth of my blanket with a cup of tea in hand. Countless times during the day I look forward to the moment I will return home. The daily friction with people and obligations is a torment for my fragile hobbit nature.
The house seems to be a refuge for most people. Even if it does not meet the conditions that one would like, there is his place, where the magical touch of the familiar gives peace and security. The familiar image of the house, makes us strong, reminds us that there are things beyond obligations and provides us with fertile ground to dream that everything will change.
I dare say that I know every bit of my house, in every corner of it I have hidden memories and every minute I spend in it heals my wounds.
Every man of my kind hides in his heart a little Hobbit who has a tendency to tenderness and well-being, but when the circumstances demand, has the courage to carry out his obligations. Bored, he takes his backpack and goes out on the road of wandering, amusing his anxieties by making smoke rings with his wooden pipe. The only difference is that when things start to get tough and danger seems closer than ever, there is not a hope that Gandalf will arrive to save me._