I’m a little stressed out. Raising my children was a full out juggernaut. Each night’s sleep was like a drop in the bucket of what I really needed. I assumed that the weary lack of energy would subside when the strain subsided, but here I am, generally lethargic with big ambitions and meager follow-through. It has become worrying. How much longer will this go on? I have things to do, books to read, people to meet.
The worry has become a contributing factor to my slow recovery. Every choice and the energy with which it is greeted is noted and overanalyzed. I need a respite. Organizing my books seems to be just the thing. The wifi isn’t reliable in my office, so I haul a laundry basket full of tomes into my bedroom and gradually transfer them from basket to bed and back again. It feels like tagging birds to trace their migratory paths. Fly little books and take me with you.
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