I've felt pretty super isolated lately. That's partially self-inflicted and partially just an effort to make my outer life match my inner life.
I think it's partially homesickness. I think it's partially the way I always get when I'm working a lot. ....Except the work I'm doing isn't that productive kind of work. It's not resulting in that awesome feeling where my little hands are flying over my keyboard resulting in all kinds of things I didn't know were lurking in my sub-conscious.
Instead, I keep skipping the line on projects-- jumping to something I'm not even a little bit allowed to work on until the more priority things get done.
Which is if I get anything done at all. I'm switching between about three different books right now. I keep trying to watch TV. I don't want to leave my house, even when the weather's been nice. And now, faced with the prospect of another week of straight rain, I am missing NYC more than ever. Texas more than ever. Georgia more than ever. California more than ever. And wondering how I'm going to make at least another three summers in Scotland work. I may have to get out of here for those.
This restless circling the drain is common for me, but it's so bad this go-around, I just felt like I'd offer it up. Because I don't have anything good to give you guys today. But Happy Birthday, America. I don't know that I miss you in any other season. But today, I am practically suffocated. I miss your Mexican food and your casual, comfortable nomenclature. I miss Central Park. I miss roof tops. I miss swimming. I miss summer.