Lately it seems like I can't be bothered to write anything. Strictly speaking, that is not true. I have written loads of posts. I just haven't finished any of them. I keep writing paragraphs and deleting them, over and over again.
Kathy was kind of blue last night, and when I asked her why, she said she had Sunday Night Feeling. I realized rather suddenly that I did not. Not at all. She also asked me, at one point over the weekend, why I was being so nice to her. I did not even realize that I was being particularly nice, but I observed that, possibly, I had just been so rancorous for my last six months of BigLaw employment that my "normal" state seemed extra nice.
So, what have I been doing with myself? I've been gardening, baking, and painting A and B's bedroom. I started studying for the GRE. I've been reading. I've been vacuuming more frequently and doing my own grocery shopping, both of which make my inner control freak smile. I am content, for now.
But I have been writing blog posts that I can't seem to finish because I can't really put my finger on the point of what I've written.