I feel like I’m caught up in a whirlwind these days. I have a master list, and a few other smaller lists lying around; I have Word .docs saved on my desktop for things-in-progress. Remember those old TV commercials, “This is your brain on drugs?” My brain is more like scrambled instead of fried.

I sit on two boards now—I should know better, I’ve done that before and the results were a combination of hilarious and sad—so I’m just hoping I don’t promote authors on a charity festival FB page or talk about carnival hours on the MWG page. Or wait, maybe they aren’t mutually exclusive . . .

Besides that, we’ve got this farm project. Right now, we can only go down there every couple weeks or so, but in between times I have phone calls to make and extra bills coming in, and it seems like when we DO get to go, it takes at least two days to plan and pack everything.

Not to mention the animals and the husband and the kid. And me. And my upcoming book, Repeat.

Truthfully, all I want to do is take a nap. I have a sleepy puppy across the desk from me, in a chair, and a cat lying ON the desk with his head on my arm. So I guess I have to keep typing so I don’t move and disturb him. But then again, there’s that list, staring at me . . .

I am, however, a firm believer in naps, especially since I don’t sleep well at night. Between the two periods of rest, I do get about 7-8 hours of sleep a day. I have to keep telling myself that, otherwise I feel like a slacker. The problem is lunch. If I’d skip lunch and just drink coffee, I could probably stay awake, even today!

Oh, and I tend to work in spurts: for a couple days, I go all gangbusters, then I have to take a day to recuperate. And speaking of recuperating, I’m in recovery for two injuries—which isn’t like me at all, although those come in spurts too, about a decade or so apart.

Last month, the lid of Da Beast, a three-gallon cast iron Dutch oven, slid to the floor. I broke its fall with the top of my right foot. A purple bump immediately rose up (about the size of two quarters next to each other) but the pain wasn’t as bad as I expected. I used RICE and it was fine in a couple days, albeit purple and yellow for a few more.

A few days ago, I picked up a wine glass to wash, bumped it into a stew pot, and the darn thing broke. The glass, not the pot. Somehow, some way, something stabbed me in the wrist. Didn’t need much caffeine to wake up that morning! Anyway, now there’s a weird, circular cut of sorts on the inside of my wrist, just below (above?) my hand. Almost like I skinned it.

But it hurts. Still. And not in a good place when it comes to doing much of anything with one’s hands.

Am I making excuses for a nap? Darn right! Besides, the cat finally moved, so I guess that’s his way of saying I’m finished with this post . . .