Such was the last two months of my life. I had a major piece of writing due for an industry publication (for my work job) and it's finally done. Completo-finito.
I had mastitis twice in as many weeks and have been super busy with clients.
Ryan's been traveling for a new role he's taken on at work and so it became a struggle for me to so much as brush my teeth on days I didn't have meetings toward the end of my writing ordeal.
The good news is, I've gone from being entirely overwhelmed to just plain old whelmed. Of course, I know "whelmed" isn't a real word, but, I really think it should be. Mostly because "whelmed" is exactly how I feel.
"Whelmed" s the space I'm in when I feel as though I've just opened my eyes for the first time in weeks and allowed myself to see the disaster my house has become. It's not a huge mess disaster, but a disorganization type of disaster. The kind of mess I didn't know I had until I tried to remember the last time I bathed the girls or the dog ... and I can't come up with anything concrete.
I don't know where anything is. Kids' clothes, shoes, sunblock, sunglasses, barbies, teethers, ponytail holders, diapers, mish mashes, chapsticks, loose change and sand fill every every stroller, bag and pocket we own. The cars are trashed and the minivan has a dent from a recent and tragic parking ramp incident in the city.
And, I'm so exhausted, I barely have a care to speedily square away the wreckage. I guess I'd rather spend my spare moments writing about it than cleaning it up.
Whelmed. There you have it.