I don't know what's up with me today.
I'm tired. The sun from yesterday is gone. My front lawn is ugly with leaves. My unfolded laundry is piling up on the love seat and at the foot of my bed. The dishes need catching up on. I still can't seem to write a query letter. My theater writing group is meeting tonight and I can't think of anything interesting to write about. I haven't looked at my manuscript in what feels like ages. I haven't even started a sewing project meant to be done by next week, nor have I started making Valentine's or cookies for the swap that is tomorrow. And even at this late date, I am still wondering and concerned about how to home-school Robert. Everything I want to try seems to conflict with something else I've tried. Or want to try.
I'm tired of my own inconsistencies.
But most of all, today, I'm thinking of old lovers. Missing them. Wondering if I made a difference in their lives; if they still think of me, as I do of them.