So, that happened.
And by "that" I mean the summer.
I'm more than a little bit embarrassed to admit that apart from that one trip to the Catskills and about one day of Labor Day weekend, I have worked every single day of this summer, weekends included. Certainly of July and August. Most days until midnight; the past two weeks until 3 and 4 am. People have vacationed and gotten engaged and had babies and read books and watched television and taken walks in the park and I have... sat in front of this computer. (And sometimes the one I use when I'm out and about.)
I have another few things to do (stories to report and write, and then also things such as, ugh, my taxes), and currently feel like I'm on mile 25 of the marathon, but cannot get it together even to walk the last 1.2. Actually, maybe given the fact that one of the things I must do is my taxes, I'd better say mile 24.
I am not complaining, exactly, because I chose this life, and it does beat working almost as many hours doing a job I hated. But I am so very tired, and nearly out of words. Which is my apology, of sorts, for woeful blog neglect.
The binge seems like a long time ago – I was surprised to count on my fingers that it was 16 days ago – but at the moment, so does everything, even the beginning of the week.
Friend Bearing Chocolate arrives tomorrow for the weekend. I am more than a little bit concerned about going off the rails while she's here, partly because – to be honest – the last I feel like doing is entertaining anyone, and we all know how well I do when I'm trapped.
But I have made some plans (including, yay, theater tickets!) and I'll take it one meal at a time. Which is all anyone can ever do, right?