I’m sort of piecing things back together. Getting back to my usual routines, taking care of business, crying over The Tale of Despereaux and then laughing hysterically at lines like “Despereaux was filled with an icky feeling of despair.” Because that’s what it is. Icky. When you feel like that. The weather has gone from wiltingly hot to pleasantly cool to rainy since Friday.

There’s also always processing to do after you see out-of-town friends. You fold your laundry and think about personalities interacting and changes and continuity.

It seems like whenever I get the urge to get rid of stuff and pare down, something comes along that requires me to acquire more. Why is that? And why can’t the apartment have just one more closet?