Welcome Home Wednesday.

   
Coming home after having run away from it for a month is a good-news, bad-news situation . . .

On the one hand, you get to see the people you missed, and the dog seems genuine in his enthusiasm.  On the other hand, your houseplants may have given up on you ever coming back, and the vacuum cleaner probably failed to run itself in your absence --

Which makes me wonder, 

am I the only one who sees this stuff?  

And can I somehow learn to not see it, like everyone else?
  

(If anyone is keeping track, Mark Trail is still on the same story line as when I left.  True story.  Which can only make me think that either I wasn't gone long enough, or time actually stands still in Lost Forest. Maybe both.)

When you've done nothing but think selfish thoughts, soak in the sunshine and hang out with your parents for a month while they treat you to lunches and afternoon matinees, the re-entry can feel a bit like a cold November slap in your greedy/lazy face.

Even if you readily admit 

you deserved the slap, 

it still stings . . . 

So if you, who diligently stayed home working and acting like a grown-up, have your Christmas tree decorated, lovely lights on your house, your packages mailed, AND all your work done for your February show, please keep it to yourself.  A smug smile will suffice -- no need to raise hands.  But please bear with me while I try to catch up. And I will endeavor to do so with minimal complaint.

Perhaps because my mind 
has had nothing but endless freedom

to wander, I've been thinking writing thoughts, and they seem to have continued across Wyoming, Nebraska, Iowa, and southern Minnesota -- the word tap continues to drip.

So while I sort mail, 
here's some writing for your Wednesday . . .

Loveseat

I cannot be everywhere

heart in one place, my head

in another entirely

body parts scattered, working

across worries, states, time

all of me wanting to just sit

with you, hold your hands

bodies touching, barely space

for both, but we fit

share one breath for a beat

trace the line of your life

my fingertip on your palm

and in that spot, that moment

find my pieces put together

-- smh

The lovely photo prompt comes courtesy of  Magpie Tales.

Follow the link to enjoy more.

And how could I not write about a couch when all I want to do is sit on mine?  Well, move it out into the sunshine and then sit on it.  Somewhere else.   
Like Hawaii, or Mexico or something...

Now there's that pesky laundry buzzing again,

and just when I get a daydream going . . . Geez!

Okay, I hear you. 

I'm growing 

-- er, I mean coming --

right up.