I knew I would fail at the part of holidailies that strongly suggest that you write daily for the month of December.  We had plans to be away from the computer during the ACC Tournament weekend, and although it’s theoretically possible to post from a hand-held device, I can’t imagine the swearing and localized hysteria that would result from my attempt to do so.

We drove to Rock Hill on Friday, into Charlotte for the game on Saturday, and then back to the beach on Sunday.  Home to Florida on Monday, and it will be a long, long time before I willingly get back into a car for a trip longer than 30 minutes.

Plus, the packing and re-packing and subsets of packing.  I had many flashbacks to George Carlin’s riff on stuff:

I have stuff at home, I had stuff at the beach, and a subset of stuff in Charlotte.  Most of the stuff I had in Charlotte was orange, including an orange sweater that I wore to go visit one of Bob’s dear cousins who said, sweetly, “Orange quite becomes you.”   Oh, if only it did.

My pared down, Charlotte essential stuff turns out to be: money, keys, brushes (2), wallet, cell phone, cell phone chargers (one for the house, one for the car), vitamins, prescription medication, makeup (never used, but my intentions were good), and the Kindle.

I’m one of those people who goes into an existential fugue the moment I go away from home for any length of time – if I am not at home, do I exist?  It’s as if I spin out my astral self, leaving webs in each of the places I’m supposed to be, and gather myself back as I retrace my steps until I’m safely at home again.  So I’ve spent most of the two days we’ve been home paying bills, rearranging things, planning to do the laundry, and walking from room to room.  Nothing useful as yet – no grocery shopping, no Christmas decorating or shopping – just rearranging my astral body into its accustomed shape.  It’s a lot like petting a cat, only without the cat.


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