I'm here but I'm really gone

I keep thinking it's Wednesday tonight and that I can go home and watch Glee after work. Then I remember I'm wrong, and it makes me sad.

Finally broke quarantine last night for a visit to Steph's. She made me a lovely dinner of tofu benedict with breakfast potatoes and fruit salad -- the first full meal I've eaten since Friday's failed attempt to keep down a Pompeii salad -- and we powered through the final few episodes of Veronica Mars. I wasn't as heartbroken as I expected when we finished, but I was upset that certain dangling plot threads are to remain forever unresolved, and more convinced than ever that I need a Logan Echolls to call my own.

I can't think of anything else to say. I'm still kind of disoriented being back in the office and around people again. It only took a few days away to forget what that feels like. And my instinct is to retreat back into my fortress of solitude. I know should associate it with the unpleasant sickness of this weekend, but instead I equate it with safety and comfort and warmth.