Crawl, Resurrect

I resurrected at a crawl this morning. Both dogs are eager, anxious, and dancing; I am none of those things. I’m heavy, blinking, barely moving from one sentence to the next. I can’t imagine how I’m going to run. Maybe I’ll just let Sir Boxnoggin pull me along wet pavement.

I did have a nice weekend. I met up with the stellar April Daniels and had a lovely time nerding about the Eastern Front and various other things. That was pretty much the highlight; I also scored a couple books I’ve been wanting for a while like Caroline Kepnes’s You. Sunday was full of housecleaning and thunderstorms, as well as a trip with the kids to pick out their pumpkins. The month of no-added-sugar is going to end in a blaze of corn syrup, pumpkin guts, and glory.

What I did not do was work. Oh, sure, I added about 200 words in revision on Atlanta Bound, but my heart was not in it. I worked just enough to to turn down the itch under my skin, which means I am nervy this morning. The need to write has been physical for most of my life; if it ever ends I’m going to be seriously at sea.

The news is a dragging weight on every finger, toe, limb. The stories are ships upon an angry sea. I can feel the panic attacks waiting outside the charmed circle of medication, body and brain trying to respond to the danger. The worst is knowing I’m somewhat protected–only a little–and people I care for are in far deeper danger.

As soon as the coffee sinks in I’ll grab my running togs from the dryer. Sir Boxnoggin will dance and prance, Miss B will moan and yip at being left behind. I can’t take her today, it’s a slightly longer run and her elderly puppy self is not fit for it anymore. She’ll get praise and pets upon our return, and her daily exercise will come from wrestling with Boxnoggin. He is still young and chewy, and can run with me and play with her all day. It wears him out, she gets worn out as well, and with them amusing each other I can attend to work.

At least the rains have moved in. This is the most productive time of the year for me, and I’ve got a glut of work to take advantage of it. If I can just lift this crushing weight enough to breathe, I might be able to get some speed.

Let’s hope.

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Michael Mock
Michael Mock

I hope everything took a turn for the better (or, well, at least the more energetic) as the day went on.