I'm not in a writerly space. I won't sit here and labor on, prattling about the weird and sometimes painful process that writers go through while living their "real" lives--the lives that happen off the page.
Yesterday I said, "Remember when I was a writer?" I was being possibly cute and maybe a bit glib, but then it hurt a little. Leave it to me to hurt my own feelings.
I came to this space today to read. Maybe in a small way to convince myself that I am a writer, maybe a writer on sabbatical. And, you know what? It worked. I forgot all about the last (major) post I wrote. It wasn't bad. Needs some fine tuning, but the thought is clear, voice is strong, even I could feel the love in it. My love. That was oozing out all over the place.
Remember, I'm still here, just busy living and not sitting long enough to write. That will change. All this life has given my so many new thoughts, new perspective, shifts in the planets certainly.
In the meantime, I will be at the pool or listening to live music or sitting on the patio.