A pulse check. I am tired. It hails today and it brings me joy — for the winter ahead, bundle up — but I sink into my evening with heavy eyes and no desire to go to sleep. That’s nothing new.
I convince myself to start reading a new book and then don’t put it down for a hundred pages. Stephen King’s It of all things to read. But it’s spooky season. So here we are.
Arthur has been extra clingy lately. He sits on my wrist now as a type. He jumps into my work calls. He waits for me to move my book off my lap so he can stay. Merlin clings as much as ever but he also fell into the toilet this week so he’s still shaking off the embarrassment. He’s always been a toilet-bowl-drinking cat but this is the first time I saw him slip. It was hilarious.
I am in one of those work seasons where it’s endless, more than a workday can fit and it slips into my evenings. The work is slow then though — it has to be when watching Dimension 20 in the background. That lift-top coffee table may have been too good of an idea.
I wrote today. Fiction. Not much but I spend an hour at my work’s writing group drafting on a blank page. It’s fun.
When I get lazy on here I think about posting old writing, though combing through that always takes more time than staying in the present. And, team, it’s kind of sad. I don’t mind being raw but how many poems about heartbreak can one person write? (Just so, so many it turns out).
I am still so grateful to be home, to feel at home. If I’m going to be tired, at least I am in a place where I can truly rest.
With Love,
Natalie