In Which I Miraculously Find Fourth Gear

For the past week or so, I've been struggling through a whole pile of mental/emotional bees, the form and content of which I shall not weary the Gentle Reader with. I have Gotten Things Done, but not as much as I should like (or as was really necessary), and every damn inch was as hotly contested as your average portion of Western Front entrenchment. Even this morning I was in a state that could, with tolerable accuracy, be described as "a fucking mess" (as poor sweh can bear witness to).

And then, this afternoon, I did tons of packing and organization and cooking and helped nedlnthred rake up the winter detritus in the front yard and Lord knows what else (except laundry). And felt good through all of it. Though now that I stop to reflect, I have a vaguely-unsteady feeling, like if I look around too hard I'll realize I'm running on thin air and then plummet down in approved coyote fashion.

Hopefully I can maintain this; there is still a lot to do and perilously little time to do it in. Tomorrow night is given over to getting taxes done (and picking up Scuzzy from the vet? I hope), Tuesday night I am meeting with the moving people so they can quote how much I shall be soaked for this endeavor, etc. etc. It is, as they say, a long way to Tipperary.