I suspect many of us are feeling this way lately. I wouldn’t even be writing about this, except I vowed to blog every day this year and I missed yesterday already, and don’t want to miss two in a row. One once in a while is fine, but multiple days in a row? Not OK by me.
Thing is, I don’t really know what to write about today. There are so many thoughts going through my mind, but nothing coherent enough or that I feel like sharing in this particular medium.
I feel like we’re spitting into the wind lately. Tilting at windmills. Running in place.
Every time we turn around, something else. On every level. Nearly every (not an exaggeration, but not gonna say which ones haven’t, because that’s tempting fate) plumbing fixture in this house has gone kablooie in the past month or two.
We have to take care of ourselves, our families, and take a break from things sometimes, too. I’m about to embark on four weeks straight of work travel – which is great, don’t get me wrong, but I also know it’ll be exhausting. And in each of those cities, I’m trying to catch up with people I know and never get to see.
That’s all on me, of course. And at the end of the day, I’ll probably just want to curl up in my hotel room with the TV on and maybe a glass of wine and just turn the ringer off and fall asleep in the quiet.
In some ways, though, writing is more important to me than ever. I have all these words, words, words, inside my head, clamoring to get out.