A mourning dove and her babies, nesting in the eaves above my in-laws porch.
So, yeah, I've been gone most of April and all of May. I haven't had anything much to say about the stuff going on. On the one hand, that's good - better to be in the world doing than writing about doing. On the other hand, I miss the old days when I could sit here and every thought I ever had would just rush out of me and pour all over the pages. I feel a certain writer's constipation. It isn't that I don't think, it's that I'm not writing much and what I do write is, well, you can see that for yourself. Part of that, of course, is the nearly daily migraines of late. Whose idea was that?
Oh, well. Tis always a trade off, no? I'm not sitting here writing, but I am out and about getting more done. I've been fairly manic about spring cleaning and there's the photography. Someone has approached me about partnering my themes for sale with her website and there's always the kid and husband stuff.
I can't get rid of the feeling that something is happening and I am either missing it or ignoring it willfully. The only thing I seem to be able to focus on is cleaning. I clean and feel good that I am getting something done, but when I'm cleaning I feel like I'm letting everything else slide and everyone else down. If I'm cleaning, I'm not doing my still mostly undefined job with the pain people. I'm not being a perfect mother - baking cookies, sewing clothes the kids wouldn't wear if I did or, for chuckles, curing my kids. I'm not crock potting the perfect roast.
I wish I could put my finger on what it is and organize it all so I am doing every single thing I am supposed to do part of in every single day. But if I did that, wouldn't I be in the middle of a manic phase and, as such, on the way to a hospital? Can bi-polar people do it all without being in a manic phase?
Yeah, yeah, blah blah. I have to go do the carpets.
