While I was in the States, my mind was racing.

I’ll write about this. When I get back.

I’ll write about that. When I get back.

I really need to write about this.

Why not do it now? Well, there’s the fact that I’ve only got an ancient notebook that’s slower than Christmas. There’s the fact that I’m spending around 80% of my day with family. There’s this. There’s that. There’s the other.

It just had to wait.

So, I waited.

Then, I got back.

I’m a bit ditzy at the best of times. A bit of a ding-bat. A bit flakey. I’ve never been diagnosed with ADD, but I’ve cross-checked the signs and symptoms list more than once.

A long time ago, I taught myself some tricks for controlling my head. Not, in truth, to control the ditziness. Really to control my moods.

The upshot was that those tricks helped me focus.

But, without the ‘official job’. Without the ‘structure’. Now that I’m in ‘free flow’. Well, some of those tricks have fallen by the wayside.

And, my oh my, have I felt that since my return. . . .

Race, race, race go my thoughts. Faster than I can catch them. Faster than my fingers move. Faster than my head likes.

So, I have had to sit back. Breathe a bit. Walk the dog. A lot. Let me tell you, I have one happy dog right now. He thinks he’s died and gone to heaven with all the walks he’s had. . . .

And, it’s helping. I think.

Thanks to a lovely, lovely friend and an excellent little encounter back in B’ham, I am developing the confidence to work on a book.


A book.

(Pause while I fight back the urge to vomit with terror.)

And, when I sat down to ‘start’ said book, I discovered there are two bouncing around in my head.

Bouncing too, too fast, but bouncing.

And then, there’s the other stuff. The daily stuff. The trying not to over-react to the news. The trying to be a good feminist. The trying to be me. The checking in regularly with you. Whoever you might be.

Bouncing, bouncing, bouncing.

So, after my absence. After my little vacation. I’m coming back.

Too fast inside my head. Too slowly outside my head.

But I’m coming back.

After I walk the dog. . . .