It's been nearly five days. I'm now readjusted.
Only seven digit phone-numbers until who-knows-when. Cabs are called, not hailed. Spring has been pushed back, and my socks are back on. Not my socks, though. Because I didn't even think to pack them. Mom's socks. Mom's house. Mom's rules. Benson and Hedges, and dinner at seven. Stella and I have become reacquainted. She feeds me, and bleeds my wallet everyday around noon. I forgot how good my bed feels. Sleeping alone doesn't seem lonely until you've stopped doing it. And Meesha. And Meesha. (Kevin Spacey, anyone?)
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