I was going to write about yesterday's temper tantrum (mine, and it was big) but Jack discouraged me from posting my negative stuff up for anyone and everyone to read. I assured him that I'd done it plenty of times before and it was ok but for today at least I'm heeding his advice.
I could write about my upcoming appointment with the hand surgeon. How pain's increased in both my wrist and shoulder since I dropped the anti-inflammatories. And about how I'm nervous.
I could write about having seen both my brother and sister this weekend and the tremendous relief in them both seeming better than they have for awhile. And about how I'm ready to be tested to be a kidney donor.
I could write about needing to find paying work. All my regular clients don't have design budgets anymore and I need to make money. And how I just don't know how to start over.
I could write about not writing. About having viable projects staring me in the face that I have no interest in working on.
I could write about how much I'm appreciating the quiet of this moment—everyone's out of the house and it's just me and Gracie with no whining or demanding or complaining. And about how challenging it is with 2 kids getting older who seem to enjoy nothing more than making each other crazy.
I could write about how exhausted I am—it's been a fall more intense than most I've experience. Except for last year when FLOW was coming out. Or the couple of years before that when I was in the midst of writing it. But somehow, this has been far more draining.
I could write about taking my first yoga class yesterday in a month and being able to do maybe half of what everyone else did. In a basics class. And about how part of me was ok with that and part of me was utterly pissed off and frustrated.
I could write about my changing period. About how it started days ago with almost nothing and now it's so heavy I just want to curl up in bed.
I could write about needing a haircut. A pedicure. Something to eat.
Or perhaps, I could write tomorrow and just be today.