Workwise, this has been a quieter week than I thought it would be, mostly because the new editing project that was supposed to arrive on Monday still hasn't made an appearance. I've filled the time with a smaller editing assignment and high school class planning, and yesterday I started two new poem drafts. I haven't written anything else in the weeks since I've started being sick, so that was a good sign: my brain is trying out a few dance steps again. Then, in the afternoon, I unearthed the wheelbarrow and began clearing leaves out of garden beds, another promising sign. Looks like maybe I won't be ill forever.

I expect the new editing project will arrive today, but till then I've got to make my own work. I'll mess with those poem drafts, read some Coleridge and Wordsworth, go for a walk. I'll clear leaves out of garden beds, hang laundry, roast a chicken. My connections to daily life still feel strangely air-brushed, but I'm drifting back into the blunt quotidian. I guess it's a good week to be underemployed. Still, I'd best be back to normal by Friday, when I've got to give a presentation in front of a pack of English teachers at the MCELA convention. Wish me luck.