For the past few months, I have been in many boxes:
--Too much to do, not enough time box.
--Personalities and politics at work have been challenging box
--Everything and everyone else takes precedence box..
--Lots of holidays and events to distract me box.
--I don't have time to learn the new features and vagaries of current blogging box...
...therefore, I have not written a new blog post since October.
Not for the lack of trying.
I began several and ran out of time or energy to complete; and then this weird thing happened. I began to feel an odd sort of guilt for not writing. It felt not totally unlike when I was a kid and I knew I had stayed out too long and was going to be late but didn't want to call my Mom to tell her because I'd hear a lecture. And yet, the longer I procrastinated, the harder it was when I finally had to come home and face the music.
Told you it was weird. Especially when you consider that I absolutely love to write. It is one of the finer pleasures in life and offers myriad layers of satisfaction.
My Anglo-philean nature does acknowledge the true meaning of Boxing Day. I feel as if I participated in that yesterday--which was typically Christmas Day for most-- in that I held a "Come As You Are on Christmas Morning" Sunday service which included some charitable actions. And today, I am being charitable to myself by staying in my PJ's and staying off the computer except for the luxurious choice of writing. (I have not even turned on my iPhone today.)
I am going to ride the slipstream of the new year energy and just glide back into the rhythm of writing as if no time had passed.
Where was I . . .?
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