Something feels peculiar. A New England orchard-esque honeysuckle breeze is coming through my open window, accompanied by the sound of fireworks rumbling in the neighborhood. I can’t put my finger on it but – oh! Could it be? That breeze isn’t just New England-esque, it’s an authentic zephyr from the Brewster farm down the road. And best of all, the fireworks are a local celebration of Independence Day (being back in the US has given me a booster shot of nationalism). Finally coming home is starting to feel less peculiar.
Blogging feels a little unusual, too. Burnout comes from having too much too say and none of the right words. Have I just run out of words? It feels like my vocabulary is strung on a jangling charm bracelet instead of strung into cohesive sentences. It’s cute, it’s flirty, it’s charming, but it’s not at all a practical accessory. The tip of my tongue is weighed down with words that just won’t hop out and I’m shuffling along on thesaurus.com to get by. Note to self: Stop concerning yourself with which words look best together. Write for the aesthetics of the mind.
Driving on the right side (the correct side) of the road felt far too peculiar at first. Mom had to remind me twice not to veer toward the left curb in the parking lot, and after that I left Will drive me to and from the mall until my internal road compass (I think it’s kept in one of those inner ear channels responsible for equilibrium) righted itself. It was stuck on the left from driving our rented Corolla on the South Island for Spring Break.
Quote of the day: “Without you here, there is less to say” – Colin Hay
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