Resenting return, reality...

My well-established aversion, again. Dull for me going through it, must be utter hell for R and friends. Ought to consider an isolation chamber for the 3-5 days post-return.

True-to-form, and with no help from the dastardly-muggy weather gods, have been sullen about most recent re-immersion in modern culture.

Where's my beach, my silence and tide pools? Where's my mossed forest path and time capsule library of botany, geology, Lewis Carol tales and Chesterton verse? Where's my damn view??

Poor R has to deal with my trucculence. Like a spoiled child, flopping about and sniffing my balsam sachet like it's a transporting smelling salt that will spirit me from this world back to that Maine one.

Coming out of it, though not gracefully. Not without wishing my apartment had view of rocky shores, my move upstate in a few days vs months, and that Wayson, or any cabin anywhere, were available to escape the city streets and the same-old of Starbucks on 76th and Columbus.

Since home:
Excused from dental-suit trial and then jury duty itself after painless 1-1/2 day vigil.
City weather = soup. No one's happy, everyone's wet and R soaks his shirt in a short city block.
Dvorak in the park tonight.
Film on Khumba Mela at Rubin (AO Scott says: 70 million pilgrims can't be wrong!)
Must pitch/publish (or perish).

C

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