After three months. Back to real life.
First there was family tragedy that I didn’t write about.
Then there was Mom being sick. Then she died. You know all about that.
Then I was really sad.
Then I went up north for a few weeks to work the fire siege.
Then I came home and went right on working.
Then my first weekend was FULL of four days of Romance Writers of America conference.
Then I worked another week.
Today, I have off. All the way off.
I’m at the cafe. I’ve done my work for the day. It feels so good, so right, to be back here, surrounded by the same faces. The coffee guy remembered my single latte in a double bowl with one raw sugar order without being told, even though I haven’t seen him in more than three months. I got the last pumpkin carrot muffin of the day. It’s foggy outside. I’ve decided that Rufus Wainwright is the best writing music in the whole world.
Now I’m going to pack up and take the dogs for a much-needed walk. Maybe I’ll go look at desk chairs: mine is a piece of crap diner chair that I’m finally sick of. Maybe I’ll take a nap.
Maybe I’ll lie around near the microwave like this:
I feel like I’m finally home.
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