Upon coming home from ten days
on the East Coast, my house smelled
suspiciously like fish sauce. Ripe
fish sauce. Seems that on Reilly's
last day in his cooking program,
he was transformed into a piece
of sushi: rice, seaweed, fish sauce.
Kind of a going-out-hazing.
The guilty sauced shoes
were in the entryway -- what? Curing?
I chucked them out the back door.
Nelson came home from his job
at UPS looking as if he just
emerged from a coal mine -- all
of him was coated in a grey haze.
Alice-the-cat has apparently slept
in one spot on my bed during my absence
and has shed enough fur on that spot
for me to gather and knit up
a little mouse-sized cardigan.
(I will get right on that but first
I need to sleep at
least ten thousand hours.)
Damn it's good:
to get away, to come home.