I appear to be pulled, simultaneously, in 15 different metaphoric directions. I'm not loving the feeling.
The weather utterly sucks. If I were suicidal by nature, I'd be worried that nature was about to drive me to suicide. Weeks of rain. Scarves and gloves in mid-late May. Umbrella carcasses - tops dissected from their sticks - hover around every corner because wind storms pop up whenever. Now they're predicting a wet, colder-than-normal summer. I want to cry.
Work is very busy, keeping me late, bringing me in early.
I've got plans to go away for the long weekend with friends, which means I've got to get my ass ready to go away (and that of the kid). Right about now, that seems like a lot of effort (though I'm sure, if the weather ever clears, and when I find myself in a house with lots of good food, friends and drink, I may just revise this perspective).
I've been working for what seems like EVAH - though has technically been less than 3 weeks - on two time-dense projects:
I'm trying to find the energy to complete them in the evenings, but after really long days - and action packed weekends - there's not a lot of sparkle left. Not to mention, I don't really know what I'm doing in either case, so none of the production is rote.
Then there's the guilt I feel for not commenting more on blog posts I love. And the meh that I feel for not having any of my own comments to respond to (because I haven't posted in a few days). Ah, that's a fun circle-addiction.All this is to say, I'm going to drop out for a few days. Probably a week. Unless, the minute I press Publish, all of a sudden I find myself needing to say things and time with which to say it.
I hope, when next we chat, I'll have at least some new item of clothing with which to regale you.