My wife is still away. I have one more night alone. In many ways this prospect is relaxing – in a remarkably short time I have managed to reach a level of existence that requires no effort. But I am also beginning to seem unreal to myself. It’s been days since I’ve spoken to anyone besides the cat.
I am working at my desk when the youngest one emails, asking me to print out an attached file so he can pick it up on his way home from work. I send a reply that says “yeah fine,” but then, thinking about it, I follow it up with another that says: “We can have risotto if you come here and make risotto.”
