Home

I snuffled with pleasure when we touched down at SFO on Friday. Adam came bearing Ali Baba's chicken, and we fell upon it when we got home.

Saturday and Sunday were paradise. On Saturday we roamed downtown Berkeley and the Farmer's Market, donated a couple of old bikes, and saw a movie before wrapping up the evening with Yogurt Park. On Sunday we went to the San Francisco Free Theater Festival and I gloried in everything that is the city.

Then today came and -- whammo. Routine. Ouch.

I love my life. I'm so glad to be home. But the time and freedom of KHN ... oh, I want that. Bad.

Now I'm a lucky fucking bitch. I work for myself and I have a husband who says it's okay if you didn't make enough to cover rent this month, I've got it, put this-and-that on my credit card, I can use the miles. I appreciate it and I'm also a little scared by it. I want to be able to hold my own and to contribute my share (or ideally, more) to the household.

But I also recognize that this is a transition time. The opportunity cost of what I'm leaving on the table is nothing compared to what I'm working to complete.