My last morning in Brooklyn. Returning home today. It's snowing out. The library is cozy and warm. I will be glad not to have to pay $4.50 for two cups of coffee every morning. I was buying it afternoons before at Sweet Melissa, then reheating it in the morning so I wouldn't have to roll out of bed into my clothes and out into the bitter cold just to find overpriced java, which is what happened on my first morning here Saturday, until I worked out the better plan.
I am so much on my own that sometimes I feel as though I'm under house arrest, solitary. Only I wonder, what did I do? What crime did I commit?
I don't mean to sound so melancholy. I'm okay, really. Dreading the drive home in the snow, the inevitable white-knuckled moments on the Taconic.
Must go back to the apartment now and pack, tidy up.
No, I am feeling melancholy after all. Why is that? I suppose it's because I'm in a gap between things this morning, about to leave Brooklyn, not yet back home.
Full of longing, missing terribly. Perfume still on my wrist - after my shower.
Will try to post tonight. Happy New Year's eve.