I am far too frenzied to blog.I am a busy little bee. Between the Low-Car Diet, my social life — such that it is — and that pesky full-time job, my writing ideas are too jumbled to make sense of. Blogger's keeping drafts for me of pieces I've started but haven't had the heart to churn out to a finish. Which isn't such a bad thing, I guess, not having the heart: It's so full lately. I can hardly imagine trying to pump anything more than blood and affection out of this heart. The shining Camry and its knightly driver fetched me from work yesterday, and I nearly burst upon pickup, after three days apart.
I woke up this morning, too sore to move after an epic personal training session for this godforsaken diet, and am working from home this morning before my half-day off begins. Maybe my inertia will get the creative juices flowing again. I can only hope.
August, I've decided arbitrarily, is the month where I reclaim my life. But I'm not sure that means more writing. So it begins — August and this month of reclamation — with a five-hour road trip to a restful weekend in the distant North. Here's hoping I can walk by then. How. Ever. When I get back from this little weekend away with my beau, I return to a memoir-writing workshop at StoryStudio Chicago, which I hope will kick start me into novel mode. Because I've been thinking it for a long time; now I just have to do it. Like so many things.
More later. Maybe.