This isn't how it is supposed to happen, you know. I was supposed to return
to my life all full of vim and vigor. Ready to tackle the writing jobs that
stretch before me, ready to become THE WRITER I'm meant to be. Ready to
return to motherhood after a dalliance in singlehood. Ready. I was ready.

And here I am. And everything reminds me of something else. Everything
signifies something else. And nothing is in colour. I stare blandly at the
'to be washed' pile and my eyes scan over to the folded, 'to be put away'
pile. And I don't want to wash the clothes that were just with you. And I
don't want to put away the clothes where yours were, briefly.

I suck.

Where am I? Junior High School? Pick yourself up woman!

I need some creative renewal, some Julia Cameron style inspiration....

Or maybe chocolate.