It is literally heartbreaking, how much I want to write but how very little time and energy I have for it. My doctors are still working on managing my heart stuff, figuring out my thyroid issues, and are trying to decide if I might have fibromyalgia. Fun stuff.
This is my favorite time of year. Even once we moved to California and we no longer had white Christmases, which took a few years to get used to. It just doesn’t feel like Christmas here, even though it feels like Christmas no matter where I am. I don’t know how to explain it. I guess it’s one of those seasonally linked emotional things, perhaps, or just the expectations created by our culture and familial traditions.
There are no writer groups anywhere close by. Not that I have time to write, but I’d love to just go listen to others’ writings at the very least. The closest one I’ve found is about an hour away, not a real option. I know there are online communities, and I’ve tried a couple, but nothing compares to the old Xanga, lol.
I’m trying to get some Christmas gifts made with the kids and that’s been a whole lot of fun. Hubby kind of took over the recycled crayon project. We’re gonna try pinecone ornaments/bird feeders next. Hubby can have his own pieces to work on while the kids have theirs, lol.
I was challenged with the 5 Day B&W Challenge. While I am a day behind, I am really trying and loving it (when I’m not frazzled with a baby who’s been up three nights in a row teething).