Well, here I am, belatedly -- seventy and freezing my ass off in Washington state. Six and a half months into a nine month solo sojourn. You should try it sometime. There's no way to distract yourself from yourself because you're it, and that's all there is.
I heard from somebody at my old school. They said my life sounded "bucolic." I laughed out loud. If they only knew. Months alone is not fun and games, not if you have something -- many somethings -- to resolve. But sometimes you just have to step back from life, slowly heal old wounds, let your mind unwind, let all the stress, fret, hurt, sturm and drang, rattle, steam, seep, yowl, and do whatever it needs to do to finally get out of your system and leave you alone. And then, hopefully with a clear head, you can proceed with your life.
At least I can get in my truck and head off to Starbucks. There are two, one forty miles to the east, the other one forty miles westward, equidistant. I trade off. For variety's sake, you understand.
Miles from nowhere, that's where I am.
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