Still working like a fiend. I'm not sure how I feel. Quiet and sort of flat in a way, a little removed. I do responsible and kind things but feel distant. When sadness appears I wave it away like smoke.
It's like when you're walking through a large and very crowded place and you're in a hurry. You're in the zone, you're dodging and weaving and moving fast with your head down and little thought in it other than moving toward where you're going. Wherever that is.
The work is wholly visual, or tactile, or colors. I'll figure out what it means later. or not.
My desk is piled high with mail, bills, lists, messages, my pregnant cat. I've stepped away, it seems. But not far, and not for long. Not lost, but wandering.