Last week. Last week. This week….a whole new year in between.
New Mexico and back home…a whole new year in between. Home smells funny like it always does when I go away. I walked in the door this evening and was greeted by one happy dog though. It’s nice to be missed.
I’ve only been here an hour and all I have been doing is walking around here in that hour without a single inclination of what to do with myself. The house is too quiet. I am too crazy.
I could unpack but why the hell would I want to deal with dirty laundry. I could air out the camping gear and shake out the red dirt and sand but I think I’ll just leave it there for awhile. I’ll have it there the next time I go out when I’ll be setting up the tent and have the red sand spill over my hands and I’ll remember the red and green lakes I slept next to last night. I could catch up on the hundreds of emails and journal entries I missed being without any communication for these last few days. But no, I’ll save the reading for another time when I can appreciate the telling of other stories. I don’t even feel like talking about Ruidoso and the mountains and the bottomless lakes or even the snow capped mountains I was in the middle of for six great and lonely days. So, I’ll save that for another time when I am interested in the telling of it.
Right now, I think I’d give anything for something simple and familiar to be excited about – a new episode of carnivale, a dipped cone, reading what everyone else did for the holidays but none of it is available or sounds remotely interesting and really the house feels cold. Mostly, I just want to sit and remember. And, to feel the misery of having nothing to look forward too.
So I guess I’ll go to the movies.
Dixie's Road Trip 