Much to the cat's delight, I have finally returned to my accustomed crack-of-dawn schedule. I am not sure that I am delighted, but what must be must be.

I spent the bulk of yesterday cleaning floors, washing sheets and rugs, and restocking food supplies, with a pause in the afternoon for a long chattery walk with a friend. This morning, after a diner breakfast with another friend and yet another trip to the eyeglass guy (oy, these frames are torture), I'll get back to my editing desk. It is time for vacation to be over.

The new year is shaping up to be a busy one: editing, teaching, my mentorship project, the new book on the horizon. I hope to be on the road as well, though we'll see what Covid says about that. I want to visit my Vermont family, and I want to go to Macbeth on Broadway, but neither may be feasible any time soon.

It's been a hell of a year, yet also, strangely, a hugely productive one. I've been writing like a fiend, I've created an entirely new programming arm for the Frost Place, but I've also, at long last, settled into my city, finding a community of poets and local friends. When I recall myself on arrival, floating into town like a lost soul, leaking tears day and night, I can hardly believe the difference.