Normally, I would, of course be pining for Balkan and Transylvanian cities of recent trips, but I'm sufficiently cognizant of the mind-independent world to note that they had very little use for me there. (The trireme nomad work flew in through the transom from another country entirely.) In the main, I just observed the work that they made, and set down some remarkably inconsequential writings on the subject. Quite enjoyable, though. And miles better than the abyss of present days.
"Don't pine. It kills."
Most basically, I was able to exist -- to think, to read, and (despite all) to write a bit. The present existence (revealing word: one has existence only when not doing anything) almost seems designed to make thought and writing impossible. Making the most of the specific advantages of the situation, a bit like Pac-man getting the "research library" "cheap gym" "cheap non-meat protein" dots or cherries, despite the fact that, big picture, the ghosts are clearly winning the board.