How did it get to be Saturday afternoon a week later already?

The short answer, of course, is that there’s not time and energy to do all I’d like to do. If I prioritize people on top of work-related stuff, then my frustratingly-low levels of energy run out. If I get more insular and only work, the energy still runs out pretty fast (and then I haven’t maintained the sustaining connections). Admittedly, I still haven’t properly mastered the art of “no,” and slow haredom, while more natural than it ever was before, still isn’t a total fit for my personality and proclivities. While my new energy-management system seems to run autonomously in background most of the time, it’s not got a clean algorithm and it fails (pretty badly) from time to time. It’s all still a work in progress, as they say.

The travel in March, for example, was way, way over the top, and catching up from it has taken a lot longer than I like examine very closely. Overall, it’s slowly sinking in that probably this is as good as it’s ever going to get, and while the glass is plenty full, it has some headroom there at the top that I find exceedingly frustrating. It was a rude surprise—even after the fresh March experience—when two days last week required being out in the world for more consecutive hours than I normally attempt, and it wiped me out for the rest of the week. There’s solace in the fact that I could even pull off the March travel and the two packed days, and they certainly represent progress. I suppose it’s greedy to want more and better. 

On that front, I’m seeking out more physical therapy on my arm and shoulder, as the level of function is declining, and it’s sore most of the time. It’s recalled to mind the archetype sedentary-observer spinsters and widows in some of the afternoon tea novels and mysteries I used to consume, back when fiction featured more prominently in my life. I find myself empathizing with them, as getting up and exercising--which helps, eventually--is so, so counterintuitive at times. There was an article recently in the NYT in which the mysterious symptoms of a young woman were diagnosed, and part of the solution for her was more exercise to keep her joints working as long as possible. Use it or lose it, as they say. 

Excitingly, the book is inching towards production, with the editing process starting and publication slated for October. The title and cover are set (yay!) and there’s really, truly light at the end of the tunnel on this one. In many ways, it was a relief to discover I could still do it, balanced with the reality of how much of a strain it was, with my remodeled brain, to create something that rises above the threshold of “not awful.” It took a lot of help to get there, and I’m so grateful to all those who read and commented and contributed to getting this thing (almost) across the finish line.  

The rowing machine beckons.  Cheers to all.