Autonomic nervousness

[desperance]

I have long since got used to the fact that every time I approach the Lit & Phil - and I do mean every time - I reach into my back pocket for my keys. Mostly these days I don't actually take them out, but the reaching happens. Sometimes I remind myself aloud, "No, Chaz, you don't actually live here, this place is not your home."

I'm slightly more concerned that after a morning in the Silence Room scribbling in ink on a manuscript, I got up to fetch another cup of coffee - and caught myself looking around for the keyboard that must surely be there somewhere, so that I could press ctrl-S and save my work.