A steady, comfortable flow of tasks and energy stands, to me, an elusive concept. Either it's a to-do list so long (and so many distractions in between points) that you don't even have time to breathe normally, or it's simply.
Nothing to do. At least, nothing worthwhile. Or notary. Or even productive — you know, steps to a beneficial, and noticeable, result. A goal in the meeting.
This summer began as a kaleidoscope. Editing job, another editing job, research job, customer service job, housekeeping, babysitting, temple attendance, social events, dating, fitness, cooking, ministering, learning (no reading, little writing ... because, no time). A grand, breathless splatter of busyness that threatens to run you into the ground.
Everything died. Jerked to a steaming stop. No jobs. No dates. No school. No real demands. Nothing to work toward. Just lots of time to think. And wonder. And recap. And wait. For something to happen again. And worry that it might not.
But it always does. And, of a sudden, I find myself right back in the middle of it. Swirling, nonending chaos. Staccato-breathed impetus. A spark-wheeled locomotive screeching around an endless, unnervingly tight bend. A threat to health and sanity if not reined in. (Life too, of course — if we were talking in the literal rather than the theoretical.)
But right now I prefer red haze to gray torpidity and yawning time.