A Writer's Notebook, Day One-Thousand-One-Hundred-And-Seventy-Five

I am glad to be back home again.  For one thing, I don't have my computer in Ohio and have to do my work on my phone.  While I have gotten accustomed to using it, I know it is not the same for me as using a keyboard.  In some ways that can be good, can shake up my work but after a week, it becomes a bit tedious.  It is also just the feeling of being back in my own space.  I am not entirely comfortable in Ann's house.  I don't think that Melissa is particularly comfortable there either.  It is not the home she grew up in, or where she ever lived, I don't think.  She purchased it when she married her second husband, who Melissa has never fully trusted.  The worst part of staying there is the sleeping situation.  There are two beds, each one big enough for one person, but they aren't in the same room, and it is not all that practical for Melissa and I to move them together, so we wind up sleeping apart for our time there.  We have considered how we might change this, but we are usually overwhelmed with stuff that we have to do and never have the energy to deal with it.  In many ways, I am still not all that at home here, in our own house.  A part of me wants to erase everything I've written about feeling good being home, because it feels almost impossible, in a certain way, to say that without it being a lie, but I do appreciate it to some degree.  I don't believe I will ever feel right living here.  Their is so much that can't be set right at this point, both literally and symbolically, and I know I am not willing to accept things unless that impossibility is untangled.  Still, I am, at least tonight, glad to be back, which is, I suppose, a positive sign of some sort...

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