I miss my family and my friends. Words cannot begin to describe how much or in what way.
I miss New England Autumn, wandering through a forest aflame with oranges and reds and yellows, on crisp, clear days.
I miss going to Squam every Columbus Day Weekend to see my extended family; to laugh and share and talk and eat good food (and laugh some more).
I miss Wednesdays, getting together with family and friends to eat lots of good chinese food at Panda House.
I miss evenings in Hanover, drinking coffee, meeting random people, having a good time with friends, writing, putting the day in order in that form of meditation that only happens in Third Spaces.
I miss creativity. I miss having a personal narrative voice, empassioned rants about nothing, gaining insight into who I am not through critical thought but through pure, unadulterated exploration. I have realized recently that I have fallen out of this creative vein, and now merely report. To “borrow” from Ellison, I have no voice, and I must scream. (Rather than view that statement as melodrama, view it instead as a metaphor for the need for creative output.)
Keeping it short.