In Jane Austen, home is a running theme. The heroines are always in danger of losing their status and becoming the dreaded maiden aunt-or worse-the fallen woman. I am waiting to hear about an apartment, one to replace the one I lost in Sandy. the pretty little place I lived in for a decade. I still sometimes walk in the direction of my old home, forgetting that I am in a room about ten blocks from where I lived, a full lifetime away. It's been six months. Six months of couches, and unfamiliar beds, and roommates I don't know. Living out of a suitcase. I still smell mold everywhere. I can't escape it. I am not sure what is next. I dream of running away-to another city, another state. Another place. And this isn't like me. NYC is my favorite place in the world. Except...it's not. I was talking to the architect, and he was getting irritated with me. Finally....I was like...would you be happy living like this? He didn't answer, although he has aid he wishes he were me and could just start over. Of course, that's before he got a new commission and girlfriend, and hey...I am glad one of us is happy. I just want to go home.