After several weeks of work, includingI completed the first draft of an article and sent it off to the editor for commentary. Check out that writing meter over there!
- a spring break largely dedicated to my writing,
- a freaking 12-hour work day today,
- a case of tendonitis bad enough to warrant buying several little doohickies to wear on my arm so I could keep typing and cooking as needed,
- and a serious case of cabin fever from sitting at my desk so damn much,
Once that was done, I checked in on the family back in Hometown. It was an almost unstinting parade of human misery, including a truly awful progressive disease, punctuated only by occasional plaintive acknowledgment of how far away from everyone I am. I swallowed hard and got through the phone calls.
And then I made dinner. And had a few glasses of wine. And you know what? I may be a horrible, selfish asshole, but the plain truth is that I'm still in a good mood as a result of finishing that article draft. Does it make sense that I feel a little bad about feeling good?
Whatever. I'm going to finish my wine and eat some lovely food I just cooked.