We have returned home. It's not really home yet, actually. It doesn't count until you have unpacked your books, painted the walls and can sit on the carpet without feeling unclean.
I don't know what it is I want. More contact with adult humans, more energy, more practice time. It has been a long time since I felt this kind of uncertainty about my own architecture.
Quicksand and molasses seemed to flow around me each time I went to do something today. The bookshelves were too heavy to move, the kid woke just as I neared my viola, the lawn mower needed both gas AND oil when I had only brought home the gas.
My son is glorious, my husband a joy, my dog a creampuff. I, however, am not exactly sure how I'd like myself to fit in all this yet. Tonight I was trying to explain to J and my jaw just felt tighter and tighter and before I knew it my lip was quivering and the waterworks leaking all about.
I wonder- when I've met the humans, gathered the energy and practiced up, will I feel satisfied?