Running Away From Home

cropped-road2.jpgI’m running away from home–well, actually I’m running to my childhood farm home and away from my home home with computers and phones and demands and EMAIL. I’m going where service is not an option, six miles from the nearest paved road.

I like my home home, really I do. I like that my writing room is six steps away with all the books, papers, and memory-jogging journals I need or want. I like that my Internet connection is up to speed and effective (well, effective except for the times of Coronal Mass Ejections which hurl great and glorious explosions of universal matter that mess up everyone’s electronic gadgets but create wonderful Northern Lights). I like it all, really. The work I do and the connections I make and the poetry and memoir and email and board meetings and business meetings and being included in the renovation planning of the old Walt Disney Studio on 31st Street. Really I do. And I like the WordPress community I’ve been a part of and received blog renovation advice from. Which, in part, still need renovating. I like my Facebook community. I even liked tarring the leaking parts of the back porch roof. I just need to do nothing for a couple of days and renovate my life.

As I said to a friend, or posted on Facebook, or something, my life is like a cement mixer – one two or even three days of smooth pouring and then the rocks are tossed in. Yikes! Enough with the rocks!

So I’m going MIA: missing in action. At least until Saturday night when we return and it will be time to dig out from everything that’s left over or will come in while we’re gone. But I’ll think about that, if not tomorrow, Saturday night.

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