So I've looped back again. Back to those every day, elastic-waist pants day, tops loved best that widen wide at the waist. The gym? A piece of plastic on my key ring. I am ache, slump (sleep-deprived) most days. Fuzzy of brain, as well.
There have been the big stressors. Changed work and work type, I'm in a new housing situation, with all my small routines upended. And now, too is the Bowl Period. Everything's in a bowl at home: the wilted ice cream after a meal of microwaved Canadian bacon and egg whites, or a green salad, or granola and kefir. I work so many hours and am so seldom fully recharged that I'm having a difficult time doing the very things that do feed and ease me.
The writing, too, is like this: Not the writer I want to be, but am. Awkward, thin and flat (it's been more than a year since I last posted here). Shaken and certainly insecure.
But I am back because I need to be because writing and editing for others is nothing like writing and speaking for myself. (I hope I write long enough to no longer sound trite.)
To practise, to stumble. Learn, forgive--and then collapse.
Here we go.