Well, I spent much of the week battling illness. It did enable me to catch up on my reading, while also keeping me away from work, which is always a good thing. I felt incredibly restless at times, in between catnaps and long stretches of reading, causing me to marvel again at how elastic a day can seem when there is no set agenda. Time off to myself leads to reflection, of course. I’ve neglected this blog, my attempts at musical expression, and inevitably a few other things (keeping in touch with people comes to mind). I could make excuses, but they’ve exhausted their validity by now. I have a house now and that is incredibly awesome. However, I’m deeper in the city and I miss my feathered friends at the window feeder. The overwhelming majority of feeder birds in my backyard now are House Sparrows and Mourning Doves, with only occasional chickadees and cardinals. The age-old seesaw continues to teeter and totter: city versus country, socialite versus hermit. My mind expands but I’m still really just going nowhere. In short, not a whole lot has changed. There’s a strange sort of comfort in that. Maybe it’s getting older and becoming more comfortable in my own skin. It’s like I feel less inclined to explain myself; my funny ways are just part of who I am. And I’m okay with that.