I’m at the office. The phrase sounds strange, after many years away from the work-a-day world. When I left my house this morning, there was way too much excitement in the streets. It made my head hurt. People walking dogs, watering gardens, picking up newspapers, emptying trash. Do they do this every day?

What time must these morning creatures go to bed in order to be of the house, showered, shaved, and setting off to work or school at 7:30 a.m.? I’ve been going to bed at 10:30 this week, knowing I need to be up by 6:30. Then I lie awake for three hours until it’s actually bedtime.

The New Reality

The New Reality

I haven’t actually “returned to work” yet, after my eight-year hiatus of caring for family members on their way out of this world and then dealing with all the crap they left behind. I’m just dipping a toe into work with an on-call administrative job. Sadly, reality — in the form of a new financial advisor — dictates that I dive in all the way.

“If you want to keep that house in New Hampshire, you have to go back to work, and soon,” says Reality. “It makes no sense to keep the place,” she adds.

Of course it doesn’t make sense to you, Reality. You are a financial planner. There’s no quantifying morning dew shimmering on meadow grass and Queen Anne’s Lace, or speckled fawns gliding through green ferns and goldenrod, or grand nieces and nephews laughing over S’mores at the firepit.

Sense is a relative thing.

So no, I won’t be selling my bliss if I can help it. And I don’t seem to be going to get rich as a writer. 

Instead, here I am, googling the difference between a CV and a resumé, sifting through years of old emails looking for contacts, and wondering if I can salvage any semblance of a wardrobe from the back corners of my closets.

Well, lunch is over — I’d better get back to the phones.

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