I go through these periods where I get too busy to post anything. It's not that I don't have the time to write, or that nothing is happening worth writing about (because really, if I'm strictly honest, very little ever happens that's worth writing about). It's mostly that when I get really, really busy, I don't think about things that are interesting, or I don't think about them deeply enough to have anything to say.
I have a midterm this week, originally due tomorrow. Because work was very busy this week (we had our national two-day conference on Depression on College Campuses) and the professor indicated that he was open to extensions and rescheduling, I emailed a request to turn in my exam Sunday instead. "Extension granted," he replied. "You are a very busy lady this week." To which I thought, "Mah nishtanah ha leila ha this week," or, loosely translated, "And why should this week be different from any other?"
And yet, I'm not so busy that I don't enjoy things. I get to be home (such as it is; is a house without a dog really a home?) a lot and spend plenty of time with Joe and Henry. Spring is here and the yard is waiting. Knitting is getting done. I'm working on my shimsham step on the tapdancing board in the basement. It's just about right.