Back in the saddle, is that what I want to say?Home again, home again, tra-la-la.
I came home to the seaport, or so it feels, rain for weeks, rain every day, a rainforest, green grass and wild-growing ivies, it doesn't look exactly the same but it looks good.
It feels good to sleep on my own bed, a firm mattress, a happy cat, content to sleep next to my feet.
Fans blowing, the smell of cedar, the bed frame, moistened and pungent in the air, a three-way lamp turned on to its lowest setting, red walls, red curtains, red sheets surround me.
Ticks and tocks and unfamiliar sounds of an old house settling, once familiar, soon to be familiar again.
Solitude and companionship held in one abode, opposite ends of the house, my best friend and me.
It's a good feeling to share a life with someone, so close and yet so far away.
Traveling takes it out of you.
Boredom takes you away, the search for things unknown, or visits to places that meant so much and now only mean there was a history there. And as soon as I get to the other place -- as soon as I get away -- I start counting backwards to the day when I'll be back.
Home, sweet home. Home cooked meals, whiling away the time watching movies or sitting in front of a computer screen watching combinations of 0s and 1s creating your present day life.
This is all there is and it doesn't get any better than this. That's not a curse, that's a promise, that's what's sacred about this spot.
It's good to go away and to visit people you once held so closely, but it's even better to come back.
