I've finally realized a Truth about our family. It's not the New Year unless someone's sick in our house. E's sick. I'm sick. In between the hacking, coughing, breathing treatments, and round-the-clock meds, getting anything done creative-wise has been problematic.
Which means I've done squat for crit group.
Which means I have nothing to submit.
Which really doesn't matter because with E sick I'm not going anywhere tomorrow.
Which is a major bummer because I really need the company of writers.
The company of writers. Reminds me that today's the second day of winter residency at Vermont College. Imagine 11 kid-free days, soaking in anything and everything about kid lit, debating the merits of Harry Potter with classmates who refuse to give it the respect it deserves, and playing telephone pictionary into the wee hours of the night. I wish I were there. I'm not missing the pork or seitan or the way my glasses frosted over during the walk to the dining hall from the dorms, but I am missing the company. Probably doesn't help that every time E's actively sick for more than a couple of days, I catch myself going into bunker mode, the same dig-in-hunker-down mentality I ended up in during her aneurysm rupture and recovery.
My inner critic thrives during situations like this. My muse? Not so much. All I can say is thank goodness today's sunny.
Coming soon: Writer's resolutions (as soon as I'm able to think straight.)
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