I have been peeking through my hooded grayness without contribution, well, without much contribution. I've caught myself sinking slowly and must now summon the mighty laborer to hoist me out of the murky well.
Of course, the question of a new online friend about where do new people go, how they pop in, get acquainted, and then disappear, stung like an arrow. Another's answer of Ralph Waldo Emerson's "Friendship" was most welcome.
The new home is nice albeit empty, hollow without the stuff I've come to depend upon, mostly though, without my Rocky and Lola. Home is cold without a pets' warmth stretched beside.
I came to this place to live quieter and simpler, and to focus on writing. Sit on the deck, in the chair, in the woods behind the house, and write. I've found myself caught up in a new job that was kindly (?) given of which I didn't ask for. I've also fallen into the old routine of volunteer for this and volunteer for that. None of which was part of the plan or dream, and now I must extricate myself gently to retain the friendships made and build them along the lines of my proposed personality.
Strange, how easy it is to go right along doing what we know is not good for us only because we know it. I sit on the deck now and write, communicate with the new friends of the online writing circle I long to be part of, the circle that is the healthiest for me, because it is where I want to be.
Must keep this all in the forefront of this ever-running mind.