I’m not sure how I’m going to make it through a winter in Boston, when I can barely make it through November. With constantly fogged up windows, my driving has gone from bad to worse (but not as bad as my neighbor across the street who hit my car while parked. Nice. Now I have to deal with getting it fixed, which is no biggie since obviously her insurance has to pay, but is a royal pain in the neck). I start every other sentence with, “Well, back in Seattle we…” I think my house sucks the energy from me. Leaving work, I think of all the things I’m going to do and all the pages I’m going to write, but the minute I walk in the door, it’s as if all spirit has drained from me and I just want to sleep. I feel disconnected from things here and life feels foggy right now. I keep waiting for things to clear up.
Where to Find Me
