I have things to do. So many things that things will slip off my growing to-do list in forgetfulness, and remain a thing in another realm until I remember, and add that thing to my list, while more things pile up.
I am rambling. I am tired. I am exhausted. I am spent. I have agents, lenders on my recent calls list. Bags of birthday goodies and party favours for baby girl’s friends have been shoved under my bed. I’m thinking of my oven, and how no one will most likely see it this weekend, yet nonetheless I must clean it thoroughly inside out, just because.
This week will be madness. Cleaning, sorting, organising, last-minute buys. Repeat. Lists. More lists. Repeat.
And yet I sit here. I’ve just scanned a document for our Sea change house, sent it on, and I sit at this desk in our study at an odd 45 degree angle, pushing the boundaries of proper desk ergonomics. And I can’t move. I sit here, awkwardly placed but still in peace, still quiet, still still. I am grateful for this moment of stillness, because I know what is coming.
I think I’ll sit still here a little more.