Perhaps if our flight had gotten in at a more reasonable hour last night, or if MJ had slept later this morning, it would be different. But it wasn’t, and she didn’t. So once again, the first day of homecoming has been characterized by melancholy, irritation, and low-grade self-pity. And not just for me. Even MJ told me today that, although she was glad to be back, she wished she lived “in a different house than our L.A. one.” How’s that for depressing? Home-envy in a two-year-old. Ugh.
Anyway. I will post tomorrow when I’ve had more shut-eye. For now, I leave you with this portrait of my tomato plant: a metaphor for my mood this evening. The good news? Its fruits are only just beginning to ripen, so my fears of missing the harvest completely turned out to be unfounded. The bad? Tomatoes aside, it now looks like — and is — a pathetic, spindly, barren, dried out, chewed-up-and-spat-out carcass of a plant. Mike watered it every day faithfully. I think the heat did it in. Or its own misery at contemplating its surroundings.
Shall I focus on what can and shall be reaped? Or on what will wither, die and have to be tossed into the ever-gaping maw of our yard waste bin?
Let’s see how much sleep I get. More tomorrow.