The cold, creeping damp. Wearing socks in what should be sockless weather. Getting sick with a cough for two weeks. Green phlegm. My son getting sick. My husband getting sick.
My husband home sick on my birthday.
My birthday. My son’s birthday. My son’s birthday party at one of his favorite local party venues. Realizing that in a couple of years–if not sooner–he’s going to outgrow his favorite local party venue. Realizing the days are long but the years are short.
Eating enchiladas for my birthday, even though I’m getting a cough and my husband is sick in the cold, creeping damp. Wishing I’d gotten a margarita, too.
The farm. Taking my mother to the farm. Traveling with goats in the pouring rain. Being entranced by a farm equipment museum, possibly because it was raining. Watching the nanny goat and her kids huddle under a tree to keep dry.
Exhaustion several days running. A lost day or two. Walking in a mental mist from one activity to the next. Losing track of days and tasks. Losing the desire to speak or write anything down. Keeping communications to small packets of words doled out only when necessary. Investing a lot of time in coloring.
Losing track of who the hell I am anymore. Realizing that these days, most of the time, I’d much rather be learning to draw trees.
Miss Fickle Reader's Backwater Domain 