A few more items of language have arisen again and I must deal with them. My friend at the lake, though in total angst about his wife, still took advantage of having a writer in residence, and asked me was he correct in choosing amount to indicate quantity, a sum total, as opposed to number, also a quantity or amount, but countable, numerical. So you have a large amount of food, even money, but a number of people, or dollars. I agreed with him and added a corollary: few as opposed to less. One can have a few dollars, but less money.

I know: I'm unbearable. I dated for a short time a divorcé, who prided himself on his linguistic skills. Once, for a long date (a drive to Stratford to see a play and back the same day - I said dated), as I say a long time, he brought along a short edition of the OED (Oxford English Dictionary), a short version of Fowler's Modern English Usage, and a lexicon. He needed them for our arguments. He was one of the few people I felt free to correct or question, in the full understanding that he would fight back.

So I'm back to normal, I guess.

Note to Pat, to whom I cannot reply: thank you for your touching and welcome comments.

The predictive corrector has prevented me from saying what I wanted to say in my title. I wanted to say home again home again jiggly jig - you see? - it corrected j-i-g-g-e-t-y to jiggly. How can one indulge in word play if this stuffy, literal monitor is going to correct my puns and portmanteaux? Most annoying.

That's not what I wanted to say. I wanted to talk about re-entry, however soon it comes after exit. I was away for two (horrendous) days and I'm having trouble picking up the reins, or pieces, or strings or whatever I've been using to conduct my life. (I don't think I conduct it; I think I sort of drag it along behind me, or else it drags me.) In the process I have disrupted other people. I didn't swim until 8:15 and two staff members waited for me to finish my half hour swim and exercises before they could clean the pool. I needed that swim.

And I washed my hair.

I couldn't even start menu planning, couldn't remember what was in the fridge or freezer or what I'm doing the rest of the week. Everything is pressing down on me again, some things more urgent than others, but I don't feel galvanized by the incentive, just kind of lethargic. I remember a lovely line by the actress Edith Evans (1888-1976) in the movie Tom Jones:

"Rouse yourself from this pastoral torpor."

(She also played Lady Bracknell in a production/movie of The Importance of Being Earnest before male actors usurped the role, unfairly.)

I have to do something about my torpor, but my torpor isn't pastoral, it's organic, and terrifying. Check in tomorrow and see if I'm still here.