Home.

When you're away from home for two weeks, you return to what seems like this altered state of reality. Everyone you left before you went away went on doing whatever they did before you left. They washed dishes, had conversations, sang along to the radio in the car, went on walks. And I am left wondering in my hotel room if I am important enough to be thought of once in a while.

After I washed the warm, thin desert air from my hair and took off the face I painted on before I left Arizona, I felt odd. Uncomfortable. Unsettled and uneasy in my own home.

I wonder what it is, this strange adjustment to a life I, oftentimes, don't feel connected to.