I’m in a strange new place. It’s a bit warmer than I’m used to, and there are hills everywhere. There are more bigots riding around with Confederate flags proudly displayed on the back of their red pickup trucks. I’m in the world capital of the type of fundamentalism I’ve spent the last decade extracting myself from.
Instead of commuting to an office each morning, I’m remoting into the computer I was working on back in Michigan. That brings its own set of challenges, like what time to start working and how to deal with local distractions like my adorable cat.
Some of my stuff is 600 miles away. I’m not exactly sure which stuff. I do know that I have a guitar and a mandolin, so if I can find some microphones I might be able to put out a folk album.
Or maybe I’ll take myself out for coffee every night and slam out a novella.
It’s also a good time to play through Ocarina of Time again.
My days are starting to take shape, to meet the bare minimum standard of “routine”. It helps that my office is set up now; I have a space that is all mine, a haven, a refuge. There are still things to be done, but it’s functional and very cool. We’re managing to make it to the gym three times a week. We finally cracked and got a DVR, and now we’re keeping up on all the shows we want to watch.
Things are close to feeling normal.