Too Much of a Good Thing

I like to think that I’m pretty adaptable. If I hadn’t been before all this moving nonsense, I certainly am now. My first night in New York I didn’t sleep very soundly. I was aware of the hum the fridge makes, the whir of the air, the light from the clock on the stove, and the cacophony from the street. Within a few nights I was blissfully unaware of all of these.

I spent the first week of August in Maine. Sunday night was my first night back in my new home. And I found myself in a re-run of my first night here. Apparently my sleeping self adapted to Maine, forgetting that I wasn’t staying all that long.