Hello, world. I am not dead. I’ve had a couple of the “Are you okay? You’ve dropped off the face of the earth for a week” kind of questions, so I am here to assure you that no, I am alive. (Twitter knows this already.)
Essentially, I went back to work, and have been juggling that, a return to cello lessons, and errands that I can now run during the week instead of jamming them all in on the weekends. And I pack all this into a day that’s shorter than it used to be: I get back from taking the boy to the bus stop at 8:40 AM instead of waving goodbye to the boys at 7:30 the way I used to, and I head out to meet the boy’s bus at 3:45. So my work day is now seven hours long instead of ten hours. Journalling is taking a hit. Besides, I don’t know how exciting “I worked today and moved 30K words around in a document” is to anyone, myself included. And I’m also having a rough time fibro-wise. It was a tough summer, and I borrowed a lot of energy I shouldn’t have, and I’m paying for it now. As I pointed out to someone via e-mail yesterday, I do a very good job of hiding that I’m sick 100% of the time, and it feels like such a cop-out to say that I’m tired. But I am, and if I’m working, that’s brainpower I don’t have left over to journal.
I’ll try to write something soon.