I am tired. As in to-the-bone weary. Worn out. Exhausted. Plus the air is saturated with pollen and my sinuses are the current rulers of my cranial roost.
This all by way of explaining why not much blogging action lately. No, I’m not abandoning my rapid-form approach to blogging, and am thinking about a longish series I want to write about the future, ecological matters, and revolution.
But at the moment, I’m . . . tired.
And prefer to conserve what little energy I have for meat-book writing rather than blogging-writing. (Cranked out a thousand words today, about which I am happy.)
Damn. Confession feels goooooood. I feel better already, and, best of all, have expunged some of my not-blogging guilt. (Hey, you can take the girl out of the Catholic fold, but alas, it’s tough to take the Catholic out of the girl. Guilt is mine for life.)
To which I add this: Getting old is okay, as far as things go. But one aspect of the process I resent is the loss of stamina. In my heyday, I was the Stamina Queen. Now? Not so much.
The upside is that at least now I’m willing to admit I’m exhausted. Major breakthrough. Major.