Okay, so people have been writing asking if I am A) dealing with copious amounts of pet bodily fluids (yes) or B) playing with my puppy (yes) or C) dead (not that I am aware of.)
The truth is that I don't actually know what's wrong with me. It's a little like depression, this feeling, but I am not depressed. I feel a little bit like I'm coming down with something, but I'm not sick. I'm not getting much done except basic tasks. I'm coasting. I'm just sort of...quiet. I seem to be resting up for something.
I KNOW-- everyone is just a lee-tle afraid.
Maybe this is part of living in a place that has seasons --maybe as you get in touch with the cycles of the earth, you also get in touch with your own ebb and flow. Maybe it's necessary to lie fallow for a time before beginning some new season. Maybe it's like the firewood we just had delivered--it has to season for a time before it can blaze forth.
Maybe I'm coming down with something.
The great thing about this quiet before the storm is that I don't quite know what shape the storm will take. Will I be inspired to work and finish my novel? Will I tile the basement? Is there a big landscaping project in my future?
I don't know, but I'm laying in a lot of sock yarn just in case.