Momentary hibernation

Sometimes I stay in homes that are not mine. I don't break in. I house sit, dog sit, fish and plant sit. But I often feel removed from things when I live, even temporarily, outside my normal routine. (although I'm not sure I've had a normal routine since May but anyway). I am merely blocks from my (new) apartment - even less distance from work - but in a way I feel miles from home. Isolated. Hiding? Not as much - sometimes when I'm here I actually talk to people more, see them a bit more often, I host dinner parties and renew those cyber-ties that I lose when I'm without a computer, or at least a computer with a chat function.

But this morning afternoon I am firmly ensconced in this, the home of the most varied and fabulous music collection around. Planted here, in front of the computer, because somehow you knew I'd be here and you've shown your face for the first time in a long long while. You have no idea how much I miss you when you're gone. Especially this week with our tangible link broken and unexpectedly faced with another reminder of that time.

I can't stay long, I have things to do, plans that get in the way.

But I'll be back. Maybe we can talk again later. You can tell me how the tent thing went. I can make mail-related promises. It'll be like old times. As always.

peace, beloved.