Empty. I have pruned, purged, scourged, and wantonly abandoned. There is little left. I feel alone but liberated, disconnected but portable, puny but compact, hermetic but uncomplicated, sad but hopeful.
I lie on my living room couch Sunday at 8pm with little to do. For once, I wish it were 11pm, a permissible bedtime. Instead, I sulk and then realize I finally have infinite time, so I contemplatively wash a plate, write a menu, and watch TED talks.
I am present. My body uncoils to release its tension. There’s little cause anymore for worry. I need new belts as my hips don’t hold up pants anymore.
The year’s escape has hit its bottom, extreme, and illogical conclusion. After my upcoming December Moroccan desert sojourn, I will be ready to return to the world and work.