I was late to dinner for my Mother’s birthday because I was presenting a bunch of names the client didn’t like. This is not a common occurence: the tardiness, and the dislike of the names. Either way it didn’t feel great. Not being late for things is something I pride myself in, not prioritizing work is another thing I pride myself in, so being late for something for the sake of work feels especially to cut against the grain of my identity. 

Dinner was nice, though. I care for my family, I enjoy spending time with them more than most people. The longer I spend at the homestead the less I care to leave, as I’ve written about a few times here. 

While in a bar in the basement of the restaurant we went to I asked to use the unoccupied stool of my neighbor, they said no and proceeded not to sit on it. That particular brand of asshole doesn’t often find itself on my property.

Maybe that’s why I don’t leave.