Like Heidi's Grandfather

I want to be a hermit.

Oh yes, I want to live all by myself with a possible dog (but not my current dog, who peed on the floor of our rented house today) and a stack of books and some knitting (but not my current knitting, which I can't finish because I don't have the right sized needles to knit the sleeves) and a car (but not my current car because the motor that makes the warm air magically come in and keep your feet from freezing broke and cost me $250 to fix). I'll keep my kid, cause he's wonderful, but if he could just go somewhere and be quiet for a while that would be great.

I don't want a job (especially not my current job, where people just expect me to magically know things and at which I am both clueless and, today, not very good) and I DEFINITELY don't want a phone and I just want to sit and be alone for a while.

I am reading Peter Mayle and a book written by the mother of one of my students (it was really good) and I just finished some of the trash reading I was talking about earlier which included a freaking happy ending and Love. I hate Love.

But if my life were a book then Love is what I would get, and I wouldn't be able to be a hermit, because people always arrive in books to make the hermit come back to life. And I don't want to come back to life. I just want to read.

I want to be a hermit.