Just Flew in from Texas. . . and Boy Are My Arms Tired
I slept through the better part of this weekend. Late morning wake ups, multiple naps, early bedtimes--I sampled liberally from the whole snooze menu.
To catch you up, I spent last week helping my mom out. She had surgery and I felt, at the ripe age of 37, that I should jump on down and help out. Yes, it did take me upwards of three decades to figure out that I could actually be helpful in these post-surgery situations, that people out there in the great blue marble might actually need me. And although I don't know if this was a particular case in point--mom is not always easy--I did head down and give my best.
And yes, I am a slow learner.
So I am behind on my blog posts. (Texas, as you may be aware, is connected to the Internet. You may know it. My Luddite mother does not. You go to her house, you go old school on the blogging. Pen and paper, my people. So please allow me a few days to transcribe.)
And I'm exhausted. Hence, the Festival of Nod.
I don't know if it was a week's worth of family drama. (Oh, hi family! Didn't see you there. You know by "drama" I mean "fun!" Right?) Or if it was me trying not to do too many things at once and not so much succeeding at that. Or if it's just the toll of repressing my fears about mom in surgery. Or if it's a psychological weariness born from me trying to forget a particularly, let's say, revealing moment. And leave it at that. Next paragraph, please.
I will have to tease out the cause later, because, I just noticed from glancing out the window, it's rather dark outside. And I have to go to bed.
