It's been a slog these past couple weeks. Lots of good things happening, blog posts I like, the Arches project heating up, other things. But still, the energy just hasn't been there. Then last Monday I came down with a cold. Not a particularly bad one, just a PITA.
A couple of days ago I launched a new blog project, working my way through Attridge and Staten on The Craft of Poety. That was more wearing than I'd expected; good, but wearing. Friday afternoon, Christmas day, I headed to Philadelphia to see my sister, an annual trip. On the way down the left wiper-blade came loose and stopped functioning. So I had to find a wrench and tignten it up. Not a big job, but the wrench I was able to find wasn't very good and it was dark outside, so I didn't know what I was doing. Still I managed to get it fixed and was on my way.
Blowing your nose while steering a car at 60 or 65 mph on the turnpike is no fun. But I managed to do it. And I limped into South Philly at about 8pm and my sister and I exchanged presents and ate a nice meal.
But the cold was a bother, and seemed to get worse during the night. Plus I decided to stay in Philly a few extra days to get my brakes looked at–they were shuddering quite a bit when I used them. Something's not lined up right. But I figured that at least I could do another post in the Attridge and Staten series. I know pretty much what I wanted to say. No big deal.
I didn't get around to it. I just lazed about and checked online every hour or so. For all practical purposes, I was falling apart. I just hadn't given myself permission to do so.
That was yesterday. Today I made it official: I'm falling apart. Just what that means and for how long, I don't know. Tomorrow I take my car to my sister's trusted mechanic. I plan to head home to Hoboken on Tue. Will I get it together or remain in pieces at that time? Who knows?