It doesn’t have anything to do with...

... does it?  Oh my.  How difficult it is, managing expectations.  In thinking about last year, the mad juggling of each trip, the balance and chaos of sneaking through and around.  For what?  Now, with such luxuries of time, trying to find the best uses of it in a pandemic that places hard limits on travel, so maddening.

At least the broaching of the sale is fully on, as mom walks and worries (perceptively) about the true motive.  Strolling through prior journals on the 20th marking of this particular Swedish birthday, the unsurprising, ever-constant theme shines bright.  “How much longer until we can run,” the blog screams, “run swiftly away from these inane files and other meaningless fodder that enriches not?”

It takes just one month of quiet, one month of an abyss of billable hours, to stoke the fear.  You should not let it get to you, knowing what you know.  I thought it might be easier, to slip beneath the radar, when the time came.  Hard to forget you are a blip on the screen for the moment, inconsequential in the overall scheme.  Take this payout without shame, it’s deserved.  Spend another month of this year at home to ease through the reality and confirm the course to be taken.

The last Krapp’s tape.  That must mean something.  The last polar bear dip, too, in 2021?  And then la vita nuova, for real?  Maybe so.  Maybe yes, maybe no.  It feels like a coming together.  It does.

Time for a walk.