I'm tired. I wish there were another way to start the week than this feeling of weary heaviness. Forward... onward... one foot in front of the other slog through it all to the end, where you can do it all over again. Weekends are the two days where life happens, and if you happen to be sick one day, it telescopes into the other day. It's not that I didn't take breaks - I did. And I ate, fed the family, and hydrated. For values of hydration which included a splurged cup of hot cocoa.
But I haven't written in three days. I'd started keeping a sort of journal at the beginning of the year, to collect some data, and the numbers are... not great. I fight for the words I get, but I have to wonder. I love to write and tell stories. But why? Maybe I should just chuck it all and concentrate on doing one thing, and only one thing. I don't know. I'd be bored, but would I be more rested? Anyway, it's more than I can say in the twelve minutes I've allotted myself to write this blog in. You're getting raw and unadulterated inner thoughts, here. I don't have time to edit or self-censor. I don't have time to do anything more than type what's on the top of my head.
Which isn't what will be on the top of my head in an hour, or by the end of my workday, or even tomorrow morning. It sure as heck isn't profound. It's just... I have to empty the dishwasher from last night, I need to fold a load of laundry. I need to look up a recipe for mac and cheese in the instantpot (if that's a thing) for dinner tonight. I need to take a look at the stack to my right and see if I need to pay attention to any of it right this minute. I need to load stuff for donations into my car before I leave - cleaning the garage was very, ah, productive? In terms of getting several piles of schtuff out of the house. Yay? I know the First Reader grumps about too much stuff, but I do try to make sure and declutter often.
The good: the Ginja Ninja is a licensed driver living in her own place (well, ours, but still) with her own car to commute in. Woot! So proud of her. The Jr. Mad Scientist is happy and productive with her own room all to herself and a desk where she can sit, sketch, and compose wildly imaginative outfits at. I'm happy to see her creative wellspring uncapped and flowing. The Little Man looks dashing with his new haircut, having finally bowed to schedule and let me cut off his mop. The First Reader is relaxed and enjoying the house being clean, and the sweet guy he is, complimenting me on what I have gotten done while not nagging me about the big things that still need to be done.
It's like there's a cat invisibly sitting on the plate of 'things I need to do' and shoving stuff off at random with a fickle paw. And then I forget they existed until I get up to walk away and trip over them on the floor.
I'm just tired. I'll be more optimistic if I can get some rest.
12 minutes are up. Ding.