I feel like a re-entry syndrome thing trying to get back in the routines of life. The week before Christmas is hectic anyway, and the off-kilterness of a couple of trips to That Sterile and Beeping Hell is meshing with a fucked up sleep schedule and a messy home and I feel the exact opposite of grounded.
Tomorrow, with a regular work day and a Solstice Ball at church, I hope to feel like I'm on terra firma again. Meanwhile, Bu and Papaw have Molly's bug, as does every other mom's kid that I speak to today. I remain (knockwoodsprinklesaltgenuflectcrossfingers) un-pukey but my whiny-making cold is back.
I missed the blog. It's weird but not weird how much this is part of me and my consciousness. I think of angsty teenege me screaming via scribbles and black paint into my spiralbound notebooks and then I think of me in Women Writers studying the undervalued journaling of women throughout written history and somehow it's just this crazy beautiful miracle that I can put things Out There and they are read. It's so wild.