wily life

I have been in a holding pattern. A bit of the blues have had their grippy way with me and my writing has sunk from the surface. I was doing so very good at writing everyday and getting work transcribed and then I tanked. I never know when it will happen or why and often don’t realize it has happened until I look up and realize a week or three has passed. This time, I caught myself, the weight of a new day holding me in bed – the sadness and anxiety to overcome in simply sitting up. Making deals with myself to get up, go pee, put slippers on, feed the dog, boil the water, portion the coffee grounds … stepping through each step of my morning with the pressure of a drill sergeant. Sometimes I wonder if I am not one but two, simply because there’s part of me that won’t feel capable of moving and another part that is screaming orders and demanding action. I experience both and move forward as one. This is a strange and wiley life.