Sometimes a week or two will slip by without me noticing. I just get caught up in this and that, normal everyday stuff: a couple knitting projects, a few hours at the sewing machine, a playdate, an afternoon playing with blocks, a new movie the kids love. I don’t even notice the days progressing one after another. It’s frightening in some ways; the feeling that life is slipping by me. But at the same time the days were all full of living, of doing the things that are important to me, and with the people who matter the most. If that is not time well spent then I do not know what is.

I seem to have a lot on my mind, but not the time to put it all in to coherent sentences. I have thoughts and feelings I want to talk about or to put down in writing or anything to get them outside my head for a bit. They rattle around and make me nuts when I keep them confined. But I seem to have a block when it comes to getting my ideas out with any sort of coherence; never mind finding a bit of eloquence to go along with it.

So I jot notes and strings of random sentences in notebooks and on the back of envelopes. Someday I will pull it all together and find either some great philosophy of life, or a bunch of meaningless ravings. Then I will either be published and paid great sums of money, or committed to a padded cell for a long period of rest.