I write to you from home. We got in last night about 7:15; dropped our stuff, then immediately walked around the corner so we could get drinks and dinner before the restaurant stopped serving. Probably it would have been wiser to stay home and heat up leftovers, but wise hasn't felt like a coherent philosophy this weekend.

We did go straight to bed as soon as we came home again. That was as wise as we could get.

Anyway. Here we are at Monday. Tomorrow I've got to drive to Monson, so today is my day for figuring out how to function. Groceries, laundry, a walk . . . I haven't glanced at the calendar. I have no idea what other obligations lurk there.

Forgive this rattled note. Tired doesn't begin to describe our state of mind.