The Chopsticks Stop Working

Last night, I was picking up sushi with ease and suddenly my perfectly formed California roll was in pieces on my plate. "Yeah," JR said, "You always reach a point where the chopsticks just stop working for you." That, my friends, is the point at which I am. I got lost on my way to my morning appointment--very lost--for no good reason. I've been navigating my way around new places all week with no problem. Here, in a city I now have a feel for, I'm utterly disoriented. I want to be home. I want to sleep in my own bed with Mrs. Wigglebottom curled up under my butt. I want to eat cereal for breakfast and I'm about done trying to figure out how to stay hydrated. I want to see the Butcher and watch his face as he tells me about the flood. I want to tell him about the mountains. And how I finally found my morning appointment, and I was early, so I sat in a rocking chair in the sun and realized I was done being gone.