I’ll be honest. After this long out here, anyone would be dying to just get the hell back home. That’s me. I wait for word from Canada, but the process is slow and that’s all there is to it. The FBI didn’t do me any favors, either, having lost my paperwork the first damn time (good thing I thought to get a backup copy of my fingerprints; otherwise I’d still be waiting). So now I hope my plane’s on final descent to my gate where I’ve nothing left to do but go HOME.
In the meantime, it’s nice simply to know you’re out there. You’re among my friends and I love you all.
Writing? It continues, of course. Just started a new notebook today after the Bloody Notebook 2 (the blood in that case was my own fault, the result of an umbrella that closed around my fingers in a way I didn’t anticipate or even notice at first, until I walked a few steps further and felt something dripping that definitely wasn’t rain; I was fine, but it was a bit scary and I don’t need one damn bit more scary in my life right now). Nothing yet, but the idea of starting a new notebook especially in longhand always cheers me. Now what am I going to do to this here? Usually, words in black or blue ink. Best I can manage, folks.
But it’s still true. No matter what’s happened in my life, one constant comfort has been this series of notebooks, now augmented with PC and laptop and whatnot. Writing has saved me in every life circumstance, and that’s no joke.
I keep to my labors, then. That’s also not a joke.