The lashing we took from a Nor'easter (Thank you, Hanna) and subsequent rains left my bedroom ceiling looking like a leaky lunchbag that could tear anytime. The night I left for B'con, the new insulation was in place, and the new paint job was drying. What a weight off my mind.
I'm coming off my second good night of sleep since getting home and yesterday I finished reading the unsolicited submissions for Lineup #2, but I haven't settled back yet. I did the major unpacking in a flash the first night, but my two B'con book bags are still flopped on the floor, bringing to mind a poem originally published on Nan Purnell's Lunatic Chameleon site in 2006:
Living Vicariously Through Luggage
Two duffel bags
in front of my closet
maintain the illusion
I've just gotten in--
where from doesn’t matter:
pockets filled with foreign air,
body not yet used to being home.