Coming Home
I was only gone for three days. It feels like an eternity. I'm having serious re-entry problems. There was a garbage can to drag out to the street this morning. There was a newspaper to retrieve at the end of the driveway. I had an appointment in the morning and a luncheon date at noon; I wanted to do both of them but I resented their presence on the calendar anyway. We're on the last gallon of milk and the bread is looking a little green around the edges. Nothing in the house can create an edible dinner. The grocery store is in my future. I'm blue because there was no elevator to take me down to the bakery in the building for a fresh blueberry muffin, a muffin that is Goldilocks-like in its perfection - not too big nor too small but exactly the right number of bites to fill me up but not out. I made oatmeal as I dreamed of Little Griddle doing all the work, leaving only the eating to me. I like vacation. The real world is rearing its all too normal head and I...