I’ve been too busy to write too busy to think too busy to love too busy to shop too busy to change the kitty litter too busy to fix the bottom bit of carpet that we both keep tripping on too busy to buy a new bulb for the fridge so we scour around looking for broccoli or is it bok choy? too busy to make appointments that are really important that I am depended on to make too busy to take more than a glance at the largest moon I’ve ever seen sitting like a poet’s dream on the midnight horizon too busy to soak in the fact I am in love and be properly grateful too busy to call friends nevermind have a long drink over a long talk about men and weight and perimenopause and how mental our lives are too busy to savour the Greek yogourt I bought because it was healthier for me now I don’t care as long as I even get breakfast is a miracle too busy to buy new gloves even as my fingers poke out of my 99 cent Shopper’s Drug Mart special too busy to send Christmas presents oh there’s just no point now too busy to dream to breathe to architect the life I am so busy building.
Too busy to blog. Now that is a sin. Forgive me, I am swimming upstream these days. Ahead, I’m hoping is open water.