But if they just make inner emigrations, then they'll only have a home when they're at home
I think I may be having a vacation.
I managed my work for the week so that I could leave my work computer at home on Friday and not feel that whatever I was doing in Providence, I should really be working instead. I'm staying in someone else's house, so it's quiet and stocked with books I do not all own, and while I have responsibilities, they consist primarily of feeding, petting, playing with, and non-traumatizingly cleaning up after two independent and affectionate cats. With an evening entirely to myself, I wrote a review I'd wanted out of my head all week. Today I had a lovely time with
rushthatspeaks who drove down from Boston in the late aftenoon; we had dinner at Pizza J (our old anniversary first choice Julian's was not open for dinner early enough to work with the timing, but then again Julian's doesn't serve braised short rib and blue cheese pizza or fluffy arancini with goat cheese) and then attended the Lovecraft Arts & Sciences Council's Women in Horror reading. I picked up copies of Paul Tremblay's A Head Full of Ghosts (2015) and William Sloane's The Rim of Morning (1964). I talked with the people I don't usually see except at these readings. I got to watch an entire circle of people dunking on Heidegger, Rush-That-Speaks included, and then tagging themselves for Samuel R. Delany novels. s.j. bagley gave me one of their paintings, a small canvas, dark and red-blooming, called Phylotype #14. (The small brindled cat keeps trying to investigate the paper bag I put it in. I keep dissuading her.)
skygiants linked me to Daniel Kahn & The Painted Bird. Tomorrow I have maybe plans to meet one of the people I don't usually see or maybe I'll just hibernate. The internet is logy enough that I can't stream any movies at the moment, but that's a very minor and possibly mistaken complaint.
I'll come home tomorrow or the day after and there will be things to do and my own cats will curl up next to me and I'll share a couch with my husband, but I don't think it's bad for me to be here.
I managed my work for the week so that I could leave my work computer at home on Friday and not feel that whatever I was doing in Providence, I should really be working instead. I'm staying in someone else's house, so it's quiet and stocked with books I do not all own, and while I have responsibilities, they consist primarily of feeding, petting, playing with, and non-traumatizingly cleaning up after two independent and affectionate cats. With an evening entirely to myself, I wrote a review I'd wanted out of my head all week. Today I had a lovely time with
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I'll come home tomorrow or the day after and there will be things to do and my own cats will curl up next to me and I'll share a couch with my husband, but I don't think it's bad for me to be here.
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Um, so. Hi there?
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VACATION! I salute you. Self-care is not just a millennial platitude.
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