I had all the best intentions of sending this earlier in the day. I had even blocked out an hour to write it all out. But alas, the hour prior was blocked for photo processing and because it was so unintentionally delayed, the writing never happened at the planned time. Formally time blocking—actually putting it down in my calendar—is something I’m trying out and clearly, it needs some work.
So now, I find myself on the couch, under a fuzzy blanket, typing away on my laptop. I am describing this only because I used to be a staunch advocate of separating my work space from my life space. I do not plan on writing a lot on the couch (having a bout of repetitive stress injury in my forearms pushed me away from doing this), but I appreciate that I’ve given myself the space to do it, if that’s what I need.
I want to talk about the sense of being fulfilled. It’s been a while since I felt this way and that’s troubling to think about.