I am fine.  Mostly.  Sort of.  (The rest of the post should explain the qualifiers.)

I’m coming to the end of two weeks of vacation, the first vacation I’ve taken in a year.  (Yes, all yelling about self-care can be saved.  I am perfectly capable of self-berating as I overwork.  I multi-task like that.)

I’d known I was getting a little close to the wire.  One of the things chronic illness has taught me is self monitoring.  My patience had been running low; my general energy was low; my sermons weren’t what they should be; my snarky side was trying to surface at the wrong moments.  I knew that.  And the soonest I could reasonably schedule my own vacation to start was two weeks ago.

I had big plans for the vacation I thought I might take 5 months ago.  For the vacation I actually scheduled, for the vacation I actually took, I planned to tackle a few projects around the house, spend some more time with the dog, and read.  I also slept.  I slept a lot.  I slept 9-12 a night.  I got the projects done (they weren’t that hard).  I cleaned.  The dog will still tell you that he is woefully neglected, but that’s his story 5 seconds after he’s finished a treat.  I’ve done some reading; I’ve done more TV watching, I’ll confess.  I’ve also gotten to some sewing projects.

What I haven’t gotten to: writing for this blog, two other possible writing projects that I’m thinking about, some heavier reading, seeing friends or family (this isn’t the loss it sounds like–I’ll take advantage of my flexible schedule and office and get see them).  I just haven’ t had the energy and I haven’t tried to make myself.  Because I know that I needed to sleep and be rested.  Because I know that there’s a lot waiting for me in a couple of days.  Among everything else, there are some vacation things that need to get done.

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