It’s nearly a month since I returned from my second, precipitous and unplanned, trip across the ocean during the third quarter. I’m struggling to put my finger on what has been going on since I returned. It’s tempting to blame feng shui as usual, but for various reasons that doesn’t entirely wash. My bowling addiction could be a culprit… I guess I can simply say that energy has been at a low ebb during the last month, and time at a special premium when I thought that it couldn’t really get any tighter. This translates into few photos taken, little writing, no projects ticked off any lists. I can’t fully blame work, although that has been pretty good at either keeping me engaged or sucking me dry. Baby Adam is a perennial suspect, but there’s no way to quantify or adequately explain why he deserves any extra credit for this increased time-suck throughout October. It’s not entirely out of the question that I’ve simply become even lazier than ever, but for such a noticeable jump in lameness to occur in just one month begs its own questions.

A few hours ago I put Magda and Adam on a plane out of Ljubljana. They’re spending the next two weeks in Poland to visit the mitteleuropean grandparents and take care of various business there. I’m still recovering from spending two weeks apart from them during my solo trip to Maine, but then I had ample distractions, being among family. This time it’s just me, and I predict that there will be some rattling around in this now Magda-less and Adam-free apartment. Also some pathetically lonely posts to this site.

Of course I have a large list of things I’d like to accomplish. Most of them involve sitting in front of the damn computer. Not least of them is to get back on top of this fledgling isoglossia enterprise. Getting my correspondence up to date is there, too (oh, I have siblings? Nephews and new nieces, even? Parents, too, you say?) Filing. Organizing stuff. Sorting, cleaning, the mundanity that is so difficult to accomplish with a baby trying, oh, trying so hard, to help, papa. Now I can get it all done. Every day will be free of the face-cracking grin of Adam sprint-crawling across the parquet to slime me at 5.00 pm sharp and then run time-consuming laps up and down my body on the carpet. Poopy or granola-encrusted diapers will be outside my jurisdiction, well outside it by 1,106 km. I will not be in attendance as he paints his face red with a tortiglioni brush, nor will I scrub vainly to remove orange sauce stains from his velvety cheeks. I’m relieved of pajama duty, so I won’t have the nightly distraction of having to listen to any silly giggling as I dry the bathwater off him and wage my nightly struggle against the post-bath clammies that are the natural enemy of the snuggly ‘jammies. Now I can concentrate and get some shit done.

Except for two things: First, I’ll be thinking about the cookie-scent the apartment is lacking, what with the nape of his neck not being anywhere around. Not anywhere.

And second, before I dive into any of these ambitious projects, I’ve got a lot of “Arrested Development” to watch.