* Amy is on vacation. She returns home on Friday, December 14; her almost-daily commentary will return shortly thereafter.

It's been good, guys, I promise. I don't check mail much; I don't even think much about sitting down and answering the tons of mail that I see are currently waiting on me. Is it selfish of me to run away for a week and not want to think about anyone? I think it is, even though I can't seem to help myself.I've watched plenty of movies; Innocence; Faraway, So Close; Real Blonde; The Red Violin; Amélie. Tomorrow afternoon I'll see Waking Life.

I find myself needing to believe in a lot of things, most of all, myself. I went away because I couldn't distinguish myself from the things I was trying to do. I went away because I couldn't let go long enough to really take a break, and because I needed to disconnect from things mechanical.

I find the missing part of myself on the open road. I don't know why this is true; I just know that since I was sixteen, it has been true, whether I like it or not.

There was a moment on the drive up here; a moment which stands out to me above all others. I was in southern Illinois. Somewhere, I don't know where; the fog was so thick that the road visibility was down to less than a quarter of a mile.

I put on a CD. I sang. I picked up my cell phone, and realized I had no service. I looked in my rearview mirror and realized that I could see no one. I was—alone. Nobody really needed me at that moment, and nobody truly knew where I was. In the fog, I felt invisible. Flying. Solitary. Free.

- and, suddenly, everything was right again.

The night before I left, I was horribly nervous. I know it came through in my voice. Aaron said to me, "Are you sure this is going to be all right? Are you sure this is ok?"

My response: "I'll get in the car tomorrow and, at some point, it'll all drop away and everything will be all right."

It was. It is. It will be.

Those of you who haven't been around me in the past week haven't known how much I've wanted to write during the past week, and the effort it's taken on my part to step away for a full week.

Life is what happens between the entries; between the moments of reflection I snatch while sitting at my keyboard. Lately, I'd been feeling that I'd been doing too much sitting and not enough living. I think I've given that proportion the tweak it needed.

I arrive home tomorrow night. I have stories to tell.