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Once again, I write as if I am the only person in the world who will ever read this. Perhaps I am. Perhaps that affords some freedoms. Here I am, sitting in my little office, work of the day completed, just enjoying the sounds of a beautiful day. Why am I not out there? Well, I will be soon.

This place has been a refuge, away from home and away from the bustle of a "real" office, one with actual people. I haven't really decided yet if this is a good thing or a bad thing. But for now, it soothes me. Home is tiny--and chaotic. My mind gets pulled in too many directions for peace. Even the garden screams at me--help! There is too much to do, and I get overwhelmed.

Here in the tiny office apartment, I can have order, and my mind can rest. The work is more defined here. Oh, it gets to be too much sometimes as well--and this was supposed to be the easy job, the one I took instead of simply retiring. That will come, and then how will I fill the time?

So much of my identity is tied to work, career, helping people by what I do. Will I wither away when it's over? I don't have to think about it yet. I have commitments now. People still depend on me. Like always.