It’s good to be home. I get to sleep in my own bed, reacquaint myself with my husband, and I get to write once more.
It’s not good to be home. I miss my daughter. I miss my grandson. I worry about them both.
Where is the middle ground, I ask. It’s not quite home and not quite away. I anticipate that soon, two years time perhaps (when my son-in-law completes his Residency), my daughter and her little family will move back to Colorado. THEN I will be happy and all will be good.
Until then…what? Be unhappy? Neutral? Live in the future and not in the present? Live in both the future and the present?
I know and accept that imperfection is the natural state of being for us humans. Why then am I disappointed when things/life strays away from my expectation of perfection?
Muse: I hope you will use this angst you’re feeling in your writing.