My sleep/wake cycles have been sacrificed to family duties for a few days. I keep asking myself if this is Sunday.
Charlie stayed overnight Thursday. All the cats see these sleepovers as an invitation to Circus. With all four of them, kid and cats, in my bed I got about two hours of sleep. I dropped him off at a friend's house for the day on Friday and was home by mid-morning. A twenty-minute nap turned into two hours and that awful "what day is it?" lost weekend feeling that persisted through my shift at work.
Saturday dawned sharp and cold. The sunlight by itself almost too harsh to work by so I balanced it with the task lamp, but I was restless. Couldn't settle into a stitch or sequence. There was editing to do and reading for a friend.
I'm resigned to let this take it's sweet time to manifest. Let it rest and not get obsessive with progress.
Gifts came. The best kind. On the bottom, a long-coveted treasure from afar. Thank you!
Colin is busy reclaiming the living room from a cluttered hoard. "Cutting for Stone", I thought I'd lost. Yet to read and want to.
The two books on the top of this pile were from deep in our disordered stacks. I'd say they've come from beyond, including a note, a slightly delayed valentine. One of my first Tarot books and Marcus Aurelius' Meditations, provenance unknown. The note was between them.
