Well, I knew it was going to happen . . . the thrill of moving is over (although I should point out that the work itself is not; Emil's down in Ann Arbor mowing even as I type), the semester is settling in, the leaves are just barely beginning to turn, and I'm homesick.

Not much to say beyond that. I really start to notice it in the evening if I have to go out - it's immediately obvious that there's less traffic, which is a good thing, but also a sign that there's just substantially less going on around here than there. (I noticed this in spades last weekend when I drove down to A2 on Saturday afternoon and Main Street was blocked off for some festival or other . . . the place was packed.) I'm not exactly sure what effect this has on my day-to-day life (except that the lack of traffic is nice when I pedal to work), but when I'm sitting in my study, in my house, and think about what's "out there," in Ann Arbor I imagine the town filled with interesting possibilities and places that I just don't have time to discover, but in Lansing, I feel as if there's nothing but silence out there, which somehow causes me to feel bored. Go figure.

This evening will be interesting. I have a meeting until 7 pm, so I'll ride my bike home after that. This is the latest hour at which I'll have pedaled around downtown Lansing, and I'll see how safe I feel. (Such a ludicrous thought. In Ann Arbor - and yes, please: infect that phrase with a whine - I'd go anywhere at any time by bike, especially downtown.)

Of course, I'm also feeling that, financially, deciding to move was a colossal mistake of astonishing proportions. Gas prices have dropped about 35 cents a gallon in recent weeks, and as much as I like not having a long commute, the imminent need to pay two mortgages, combined with the realization of how quickly our savings will fly out of the bank, is making me more than a little nauseous. In moving, we violated the First Rule of Living in Maine: Never count your chickens before they're hatched.

Oh, well. Not much to be done about that now. I suppose my homesickness is part missing Ann Arbor and part wishing I could crawl back somehow into my former life and dial back through the past several months. I keep forgetting that I can't go back . . . life has changed, and I must change with it. But boy, oh, boy, the desire to evade that knowledge is powerful . . .