I write the title of the blog before I write the post itself. Sometimes that feels right, it’ll spark the topic, and sometimes, like today, it feels quite wrong for what I’m thinking I’ll write about.

I’ve not written about my burgeoning anti social tendencies and introversion lately, but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t been growing. 

There must be some limit to how much time I would spend without leaving the house, or at least the homestead, or at least the homestead + the trail just down the road, or at least the homestead + the trail just down the road + the hardware store at the end of the road, or at least the homestead+ the trail just down the road + the hardware store at the end of the road + church.

I’ve never reached that limit because something always comes up. I have to go into town for work, a friend is in town, there’s a doctors appointment, a gallery opening, et cetera. 

The choice to leave my house not being my own for so long, I’m beginning to resent it more every time I’m urged to depart, even for a little while. It’s good for Roby, of course, and play groups and friendly visits for her are the least irksome sort of requirements. I’d put up with a lot more pain for her than going to a little Roby Party.

Anyways, I’m really hoping that this winter I can see what the limit of my time at home is. I bet it’s two weeks.