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.