sǝuoſ ǝuıɥsunS

My bare feet softly drag over the hard wood floor of my house. My legs are ironically tan for the chill in the air, and the green all around from the sheer volume of rain I missed. My face is tight with sun, and my back has begun to itch as the deep tan begins to peel. My son and I are connected in a wonderful new way, and the house has a happy glow. It was hard to come home, but it’s wonderful to be back.

I returned last night, and approached my old life with caution. Would we still live here? Would the phone be disconnected? Did my clients like the last minute work I delivered before I departed? Are the various communities I moderate ok? Did the rent check go through? How will I ever plough through the 879 emails I received while I was away? Is everything ok?

Everything is ok.

I am not reluctant to resume my life. I have already managed my way through all that communication before sipping the last of my first cup of coffee. It is so nice to drink my own coffee. I make very good coffee. Some people think it’s a bit strong, but my espresso machine is easy to use, and I think Peete’s coffee is the best in the world. I brought twice as many packs of cigarettes with me than I needed. I packed for the stress level I was enjoying before I left, and ended up smoking about a third as much as I would have if I’d spent 10 days lurched over a laptop, typing and seeking something in this flat screened universe which has so little to actually offer.

I am excited to continue to read. I have been reading a lot. I am excited to continue to play. I have been playing a lot. I am interested in resuming my work, and looking forward to more.

The air smells crisp and oceanic and wonderful here. Like nowhere else on earth.

It is good to be home.