Whenever the fog passes

It's been a kidney stone, car-dying, car-buying, kid with nightmares, kid teething, stomach bug, sleep-deprived 10 days. As if all of nature was mocking me, I dropped into bed at 8:20 last night but couldn't fall asleep for several more hours because of the strobes of lightning and the thunder that gave my bed the feeling of motion. So. Maybe I should give myself a break about all the writer's block. Maybe this just isn't the month to be hard on myself about buckling down to write. Because some weeks, you need sleep more than you need just about anything else.

That being said, I claimed the little corner
desk in our living room, declared it mine. Cleared the mail and alligator artwork and coasters, left a clean space with a simple lamp, and a wire basket for current books and writing projects. And now there's space--not quite a room of one's own, but a place to think and write. The physical space helps validate me as a writer, gives the title clout and worth and reality. So even though my brain is a junk drawer on NyQuil, my space is clean and waiting for me whenever this fog passes.