Porthole

Tired... oh so tired.

I told Robert:

"My brain? There are plenty of barnyard metaphors I'm sure.

I feel slippage. I fear slippage. My way to counter that is to stay mentally active. I'll never know whether that works though will I? Others will have to put me away.

Because I'm ecclectic in people, places, ideas, things... I find uses for what is discarded that others have no use for. I'm like an old farmer collecting string."

What I didn't tell him was how tired I am. I'm tired of blogging, tired of contests, tired of reading, tired of breathing.

Once-upon-a-time I'd try to blog every day to get a 'blue month'.

But so few comments this past year... why bother.

If I ever disappear for awhile it may be to take a vacation and try to 'reset' my life. I'm not happy... and that's a sign that something needs to be changed.

Written today: "The mist that parts; the ice that melts [328] (~225 words)" 

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