We've had some good times this summer: two weeks on Cape Cod, a day trip to a theme park, half-day camp for The Son, lots of swimming play dates with friends, a trip to Maine coming up.
But it's also been a hard summer. My young cousin passed away in a shocking tragedy. The Husband's grandmother is dying, which while not a shocking tragedy is still an enormous stress on his family as they manage her care. My uncle had surgery on his back, which at his age can be a risky endeavor. I have a bad chest cold. And last week, our beloved indoor kitty got out of the house and went missing, probably forever.
I know I shouldn't let the hard, sad things keep me from writing... but I do. All last week I spent every free moment searching for the cat (and probably gave myself the cold in the process), and walked around with a heart that felt like it was made of lead. I opened the TOB file every day, but only wrote a total of maybe 200 words.
Yesterday, knowing that I would have to tutor and run errands today, I spent almost the entire day in bed, trying to kick the cold. And with the pressure to work on or worry about anything else removed, I wound up writing almost an entire scene. Maybe that will be the turning point that pulls me out of this writing and life funk.