Hermit Seeking Cave

Unfortunately, the cave I currently inhabit has phone lines and internet access and I can’t close all the windows up tight because the freshly painted walls and freshly refinished floors of my apartment are still outgassing and it makes me nauseous. So folks can reach me a multitude of ways. Mostly my fault because I keep answering the damned phone and checking my email, like I’m terrified I’m going to miss out on something if I don’t stay 100% available 24/7 (I have yet to see anyone try to sneak in through a window).

I’m beginning to think that not only will the Earth not fall into the sun if I’m out of communication with them’s what matter most to me for a while, but the Apocalypse won’t begin either. And I might feel a bit more human and approachable and less miserable and snappy and wound up tighter than a Scotsman’s purse strings. Then again, maybe not. Maybe I’ll just languish and waste away for lack of snarky interaction and head petting. Then again, maybe not.

Thing is, I’m really wanting to hide under my bed, except that my bed’s not high enough off the ground and I’d probably get squished. And there are dust bunnies. Ick. Maybe I’ll camp out in the bathtub instead. I can bring alcohol in there with me, and I don’t have to get all pruny ‘cuz I can also just not add water and instead curl up with the tattered old pink comforter I’ve been dragging around with me since I was twelve. My teddy bear, who’s been with me since I was eleven, can supervise to make sure I don’t drink too much and get my big toe stuck in the drain. And maybe if I stay in there long enough escrow on my house will close and it will be sold once and for all and then magically my divorce will be final too. And I’ll win the lottery. And lose 30 lbs and emerge sleek and toned with a perfect manicure and pedicure and a three-book publishing contract. And there’ll be peace in the Middle East once and for all. Okay, now I’m just being silly and out of touch with reality. Time for my vitamin B. Or more beer.


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