As I wait for 1300 to roll around and the contractors passing judgement on the best way forward WRT replacing some windows and potentially a wall I'm asking myself, perhaps more than I have in a long time, what would help me feel like I'm "at home" in this place I've lived for the last 11 years?

It does feel like "a home" - the dogchildren, K (they are my home; perhaps it's more the people and less the place?) - but it doesn't feel like "home-home," not at all; I haven't felt at home in the "home-home" sense anywhere since 2004 – though it could be argued that I haven't felt at home-home anywhere since 1997, give or take. I catch myself, on more than one occasion, saying "I'm ready to go home now."

Anyhow, what would help me there? Acceptance? Resignation? Casting aside of lingering iterations of self that no longer serve a purpose?

Transitions of transitions (especially for those who've read it): Finished Shirley Jackson's WE HAVE ALWAYS LIVED IN THE CASTLE and it is now a.) one of my favorite books of all time ever and b.) a gateway drug into ensuring that the rest of her work makes its way to the to-read pile pronto. So very, very good.

(Is that movie about her with Elizabeth Moss worth watching?)

Oh and speaking of 1997, I've got a thing that I'm whipping into shape, a piece cut from LAST CHRISTMAS IN JULY, coming later today – once I get it in order and grow enough of a pair to publish it in public.