As far as it goes, I had a nice time while I was travelling. Better than most times. The company was good, and the company I was working with was also good. A rare combination. But as much as I enjoyed it I was quite ready to be home just as quickly as I had set out. But as much as I wanted to be home, I found the actual homecoming to be not quite as much the balm as I might’ve hoped. 

All the worries and labors remained just where I had left them. The guest room remains a noman’s land, Roby’s bedroom unmade and without enough art or a closet worth having. The apartment needs finishing, the loft in Roby’s room as well. The kitchen’s a mess, the shaggy woolf carpet we’ve got is still hard to vaccuum and full of the detritus of the woodstove. I’ve not got enough money yet I’m terribly busy and none of these things were solved in my absence. Why I might’ve expected them to have been, I do not know, but I still feel a bitter disappointment in finding them very much still there, and perhaps a bit dustier. I’ve got to dust them now as well. 

What is there to do but get to work?