Homesick.
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Dreamless uninterrupted sleep. Bliss. Woke with the alarm to make tea, pack clothes, prep the last of The Mill on the Floss and Frankenstein. Woke to wake at the time of day when my head works best and nothing much worries me and you are probably sleeping in your bed in your room in your house somewhere out there in the dark. Only the trains work hard at this hour nearby, and even I am not moving much around. The dishes soak in hot water. The laundry is half-folded on the coffee table and couch. I am thinking of pulling a small duffel from the front closet or from under the bed--I don't recall which--but I am not yet getting up from the desk. I am trying to imagine where I left my tea cup and what sorts of things one takes on retreat.
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I'm off to buy my first sleeping bag.
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&.
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