I can’t read right now. I can’t review right now. It’s okay, though.
I suppose I could, but I just cannot bring myself to read or write lately, and that’s really odd for me. I typically do both with great abandon.
Instead, I’ve been swallowed by domesticity and child development. (That’s code for cleaning up after my kids and accounting for everyone’s body parts and sanity by the time my husband gets home.) Summer vacations for teachers tend to cause a crisis of structure. As in, we have no structure and it’s damned glorious. I recommend to everyone that they unstructure their time as much as possible as soon as possible.
I’ve been busy. Really.
I knit a killer baby blanket out of killer yarn. It won’t actually kill anyone. It’s the softest blanket ever knit by my hands.
I’ve scheduled surgery for my kid. Her 10th. I think processing this is taking up most of my emotional energy.
We had a death in the family. Those throw things out of balance.
My mother sold my childhood home. I’m both happy for her and sad for me. Mostly happy for her, though.
We’re building a new house. It’s sort of an involved process.
Everything is out of sorts.
Everything is perfect.
If Yoga Jones were here, she’d remind me that this is all temporary. She’s not wrong.
Zen teaching says “Let go or be dragged.” So, I’m letting go for a while. Dragging hurts.
I’m not reading right now. My Kindle is unaccounted for, which is unheard of for me.
I owe reviews to a couple of my favorite authors. I love you. I’m sorry. I’ll be back soonest.
If you’re reading my blog, thank you. The idea that anything I write means anything to anyone is beyond gratifying.
I’ll be back soon.