Friday, I got me and Geoff on the road. Drove two hours north to the Rhinebeck Craft Fair. Problem. It didn’t open until Saturday. Tuesday, I scooted to the supermarket, the bank, the candy store and my four o’clock hair appointment. Problem. It was scheduled for Wednesday. I had put the appointment in my calendar on the wrong day. So, I rescheduled our barbecue with friends scheduled for Wednesday for Thursday. 

I am distracted. Overwhelmed. Second-guessing.

I am getting ready for a big trip to the UK. I am creeping up on a really big birthday and a big budget month of celebration. Another trip. The beach, my happy place. 

I am writing. In my head. On paper — notebooks, supermarket receipts, the back of envelopes — on my Mac. Poems, stories, songs, social media posts to spread the word that my work is out there. Scrambling to get all my words down and in the right order so that everyone understands what I’m trying to say. Proofreading. Revising. Punching up my verbs. Re-revising. Proofreading again. 

I am waiting for my driveway to be resurfaced. For the results of some tests. For my iPhone and Apple Watch to stop pinging with campaign begging texts. I’m giving all I can. I am writing postcards. I am trying to avoid the news. I am weary of trials and postponements and convictions and conspiracies and crooked judges and loudmouths and liars and calls to step aside. 

I am running fast. Looking forward. Looking back. Trying to believe all will be okay. To keep things together. To meet deadlines. To not run out of time. Hoping for a quiet mind. For the good guys to win. For the chaos to end. Please.