Thanks to the sense of urgency with which I packed and left for residency back in December, my apartment looks as if a tornado hit. Now that I've had a good night's sleep, this is my next order of business now that I'm back home.
Here are the things that, in my haste to bust outta here, I neglected to do:
* Take the trash out (so you can imagine how good it smells in here. Stupid, stupid move, Phil).
* Throw out the half-eaten apple in the fridge that I apparently didn't have time to finish before I left.
* Pick up scattered papers that together constitute numerous thesis revisions lying on the floor, which I could've picked up a few weeks ago, but in my anxiety to get ready to leave, I simply avoided them as I walked through the apartment.
This is a daunting task. I did, however, benefit from a few breaks. I only received four pieces of mail, and only two phone calls, neither of whom left a message. So I really have nothing to catch up on.
Being at a writer's retreat can be magical and exciting. But it ends, and at some point the real world intervenes. Life goes on.