I'm feeling tired, cold and achy. All I really want to do today is climb back under the covers. I have work to do but the writing's not flowing. I feel uninspired. And yet, apart from my worry about my mother, nothing is actually wrong for me personally in this moment. So why this overwhelming urge to hide out in bed?
In other news, I'm in a choral group that's performing the first of three winter concerts this Saturday. I enjoy our Monday night choir rehearsals and the fact that I've had the pleasure of singing Christmas and Hanukkah music throughout the fall. The selections are beautiful four-part harmonies, although in one song I'm flat out faking some of the high notes. The choir director thinks I'm a second soprano but I'm going to see if I can switch to alto in the spring. Better not to keep faking!
My son is in the living room laughing at something on TV. This makes me smile. He doesn't work at the sports club on Thursdays and Saturdays but he still coaches track in the afternoons. He works seven days a week, this boy. I love to hear him laughing.
My thoughts are rambling all over the place; I'm so distracted, even though I really do need to be working. Maybe I need to just flow with this feeling rather than fight it—just lie under the covers and let my thoughts roam. Oh, but I'm feeling guilty about the work. I really need to get back to it. But why do I feel so darned unsettled today?