No answer.

While I often deal with tragedy in my line of work, I don't often feel overcome by sadness. Today was not a usual day which lead to my taking some time tonight to muse. I was surprised to find my mind coming to the most random of thoughts--my habits about answering. The door, the phone, Skype--whatever requires answering.

Somewhere in the last few of years I descended so far into myself that I've stopped answering.

It started in Missoula when I knew that there was not likely to be a visitor at my door, just someone looking for directions or possibly payment on a bill I owed. That seemed to make sense.

Also, who wants to answer the door when they've been in pajamas for three days? Oh, the life of the unemployed.

Somehow that's continued into my time here in Utah. We have several darling girls who come down the street to visit my dogs and, sometimes, me. It started well and then it was, "I'm not in my makeup and the kitchen is messy. I'll just answer it next time."

Now it's gotten to the point that I don't bother to answer unless I'm expecting someone.

Today it occurred to me that life will always be full of tragedy, lonely times, times we're aching in the eternal seconds until someone arrives to help, desperate for their company and here I am eschewing the opportunity.

Inexcusable. Consider my door and line open. I'm making a goal to answer, despite the status of my makeup and kitchen.