In Lieu of Therapy

Interwebs, forgive me this rant.  I'm feeling overwhelmed, if we need to put a label on it.  I'm tired of being asked by everyone who knows anything about what's going on with my family how I am, how my mom is, how my nephew is, blah blah blah.  Everyone is well intentioned.  But right now I can't really TALK, I just need to put one foot in front of the other, one word after another, and get shit done.  If I wanted to talk I'd go back to therapy--and I have seriously thought about it--but she would just give me the face and I would cry and that would probably be good but probably not worth paying out of pocket when I could if I wanted just cry at home.

My to do list keeps getting longer, as they are wont to do, and while I am generally pretty good about the putting one word after another and just doing what needs doing, one thing at a time, it's HARD. Sitting still is hard.  I'd rather be walking (it has occurred to me that I wrote the bulk of my PhD diss between long walks so this is not exactly new, but back then I did not have a house or two children to take care of).  Things to do include scheduling lots of home repair things, which I am notoriously slow about, and many doctors appointments, and addressing all the stuff for fall (syllabi, event planning) I have been studiously ignoring.  The ignoring got harder when I received an email from my chair re: our first department meeting before classes even begin.

I'm also dealing with the need-to-put-the-book-in-the-mail anxiety so I keep putzing and finding more things to fix instead of just calling it DONE and sending out the damn proposal.  I'm giving myself a couple days more for each chapter.

I also need to come up with a list of places/people to send galleys of the poetry collection (if you are in a position to write a review, even an amazon/goodreads type, please let me know and I'll see what I can do about sending it your way) and that makes that book real and anxiety producing, even though it's done and blurbed by people I admire and all that shit.

The point of these last two is that I like books better on my computer than out in the world.  Although the publishing is sort of necessary for career advancement.

Okay, I think I've talked myself down.  Thank you.