I’m back at my writing desk after a 2-week hiatus, organizing my thoughts, looking for a way “in” to this chapter. The last substantive chapter to draft. Then write the Conclusion. Then re-write the whole thing at least twice.
It’s do or die time here. The only option is to finish. This year.
This past Saturday felt like the first real Saturday I’ve had since the kids were born. We cleaned the house, went grocery shopping, cooked, ate, played, and in the mid-afternoon I sat down on the couch with a cup of herbal tea and a new knitting project. And I felt relaxed. It felt amazing. The kids were playing well together, Gimli was puttering in the kitchen, and I had time to sit and knit. A part of myself that has been dormant for six years started to come alive again.
I can feel it in the tendrils of thoughts about new knitting projects I’d like to try, the new energy I feel while tackling housework. I don’t know where this new life-force came from, or what precisely has shifted either internally or externally (or both), but it’s fantastic.