I don’t know whether it’s residual work stress from November to March events, or if it’s just from the difficulties of geriatric care simultaneous with child care, but it manifests itself as a sort of mental malaise. I’ve written 4422 words so far in April, but that includes 11 days of writing nothing. I don’t really know what the problem is, but I suspect it’s just trying to tolerate all the stress.
I’m still driving 55, but the new cylinder heads will cross the 500-mile mark tomorrow. Change the oil on saturday morning and I can drive faster, though I plan to ease it up–60, 65, and of course I never drive faster than 65. Yup.
The single mother of one of my son’s friends got in an accident this evening while the boys and I were at scouts. I got a third-hand request to take him home. On the way back, the road was blocked and we saw the car. Front end all smashed in, airbag deployed, the whole 9 yards. After a round-about way to get across the street, we dropped hom off. Fortunately, his mother walked away from the accident.
Didn’t touch the guitar today and it’s too late now. Have a conference call in the morning. Another one of those things that never end.
