Not all of the things I'd set out to do this time I'm back have been done. Driving down Lornie Road late some night, there was time for reflection - there are, during some stretches of roads more than others, times for reflecting. Lornie Road's one; the Midland Highway leading from Hobart to Launceston in Tassie's another. But for now, Lornie Road is much more accessible.
I was reflecting, like I said, on being back home. 'Back' and 'home' connote the same thing, I suppose. Those are two words that are nice to string together. Had I set out to achieve what I'd ambitiously thought to be achievable on my
"things to do back home" list, I wouldn't have had the chance to slow down. To sit at home both listening and watching the rain pouring its way down, indulge my cats and sniff at their slightly musty fur, have chicken wings and beer with my mom one night, and to have midnight
dimsum with A and JD. The startling evidence of four girls' bingeing had to be concealed by surreptitiously distributing the emptied plates between the several tables around ours.
Meeting up with Little Miss Pantyliner has been unexpectedly good as well - apprehensive as I usually am about these encounters. And the Terrorist has been unusually compliant, which is always a good thing. It's probably very telling, how readily I have acclimatised this time. Though the piano remains untouched, like a lover who has been deserted for too long, I am unsure of how to approach the Muse I'd taken too much for granted before.
It's good to be back. Home.
Job hunting can wait, for now.
