Write about: starting over.
Spent most of the morning bouncing the rototiller around our yard, trying to tidy up the worst of the weeds before getting some mulch on top of them. Hopefully that will happen this weekend and then it will just be a matter of doing some minor weeding this summer to keep on top of things.
Also: Sir Phillip has returned! You remember Sir Phillip, don't you?
Of course you do. I've been hearing him around for the last couple of weeks but this evening was the first time I actually laid eyes on him.
And yes, I'm fully aware this might not be the same pheasant. And yes, I don't care. I'll be calling him Sir Phillip for as long as he (they?) cares to hang out around here.
Everything was so new. The town, the job, the apartment. The life. He could not get used to all the newness.
Though of course it wouldn't always be this way. After a few weeks or months or years had passed, all that was now new would become old. Normal, routine, commonplace. Boring.
But that knowledge did nothing to ease his current discomfort. It did not dispel the unease he felt each morning when his alarm clock roused him from unsettling dreams. It provided no comfort when, forgetting, he turned his head in the direction of the other side of his bed.
Not forever, perhaps, but that hardly mattered. Not with the memory of his ex-wife fresh in his mind.