So usually when I'm slacking on one thing, I'm on the ball on some other. But lately, I am thoroughly unproductive.
I'm not cooking.
I'm not prepping for the spring semester.
I'm not reading.
And most upsetting to me, I'm not writing.
I can't even have a good cry to get over this spell. I cry like two minutes at wide-spaced intervals and that's it. Last night, tears actually got caught in the corners of my eyes and would not fall.
Perhaps, I thought, I am tired of the house. So last night, in a really inconsiderate way, I called up a guy to whom I'd given a raincheck and was like, if you can meet me in one hour, we can do something.
But, as sweet as he was (is!), when I got home, I felt the same. I decided to write something, at least catalogue how I was feeling. I grabbed looseleaf and a blue pen (that's my serious writing gear) and...
All I could think of was a story from my long ago days teaching elementary. In the middle of class, one of my students was trying to describe how she felt about some event and she told her classmate, "Girl, my bones were even sad."
And I said something to the effect of, "Hush, little grown girl, your bones can't be sad."
She insisted that, yes, they could.
Eventually, I understood her. And right now, my bones are even sad. I'm frozen (dreading going to the AHA next weekend!) in space. I'm also apparently not fooling anyone because my BFF came up here this morning. I cried for two minutes again.
For three hours, she worked her usual magic to reassure and support me and to kick my ass in gear. And while I don't think I feel better, I must.
Because I wrote this, right?