I'm Not Dead Yet.

Okay.  Well.  Hmm.

I haven't been writing lately.  I can think of three main reasons:

1.  Both laptops got seriously ill about a month ago.  I'm back on tonight because the Winemaker spent a couple of days this week doing the long-delayed emergency surgery, and it seems they will limp along for some more time, much like an old car, or, sad to say, my 81 year old father.  Since I'm not under 25, blogging on my phone didn't work for me.  Blogging at work didn't seem like a good idea either.

2.  The only time I have for writing is after the kids go to bed.  This happens about an hour before I SHOULD go to bed, and about two hours before I DO go to bed.  I'm trying to get closer to the 'should' time, and anyway, even two hours a day gets rapidly sucked up in other stuff, like paying bills and randomly surfing the internet.  (Do people still say that--"surfing"?  It sounds dated, but how else do you describe wandering from website to website until you say, "Oh shit, now I'm only going to get 5 and a half hours of sleep!"?)

3.  Things have been pretty lousy lately.  It started on Mother's Day, and hasn't really eased up since.  When I tried to schedule extra therapy, I couldn't find any slots in our therapist's calendar, because, she explained, her calendar "exploded" (her term) the day after Mother's Day.  So, there's that--we're not alone.  But the wall-to-wall disregulation, which has now even spread to the one remaining sane member of the family, is hard to write about.  Plus, frankly, it eats up a lot of time, meaning that 1-2 hour window at the end of the day finds me exhausted and way behind on all tasks. 

Wednesday night I went to bed and realized that the most productive thing I'd done all day was wash my hair.  One's day shouldn't really peak at 6:20 am.

Thursday was better.  So was today.  We're not out of the woods yet, but catching my breath (and a repaired computer) made me decide to write even if I only have time to write a little bit.  It won't be great stuff.  But I kind of need it.  Reading the lovely, inspiring and/or hilarious words of other writers is great, but I need to write my own mediocre stuff in order to work on my own life.