It's late and I'm tired. I've gone through one pullout (with a fine-tooth comb) and now I have to do the same for another. My eyes are scratchy and I just want to go home curl up in bed and watch an inane movie over iTunes or YouTube or whatever. Either that or read Love, Nina and then fall asleep.
Funnily enough, although it's just Tuesday, it feels like it's been a hard week.
Yesterday, I lost my phone and my morning pages diary.
Today, I found it again.
I guess I'll just keep that old nose to the grindstone until I'm done with what I have to do.
(Enthusiasm, where are you? Passion, likewise? Did you creep out the backdoor as I was editing pages and pages, with no clear idea where or when or how?)
If Mum was alive, I would call her now to chat. I'd say, yeah, been busy Mum, but will be done by today. Then maybe make plans to go back to JB to hang out with her.
If Mum were alive...
Somehow I think I am going to sleepwalk through the following days, stuck on autopilot, not seeing and not really caring. Not really there, if you know what I mean.
What I need to do is make lists and start doing practical things towards planning my trip because...well, it's creeping closer.
Without any warning, March is upon us. The ides of March. The time for take-off. Such things, such things.
And although it is March and speaks of tempests and tsunamis, floods and conflagrations, I would prefer to be calm, serene, mindful, untroubled.
Maybe I'll re-read Seeds from a Birch Tree again.
Or the Long Quiet Highway.
Later.
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