It's not malaise that has had me go a full week without posting.
It's not crisis.
It's not for lack of pithy or snarky or funny stories to tell. There's the one about Youngest's molar being pulled. Or the one about my own, literal, bag of hair. Or the one about oompa-loompas. Or the one about Daughter desperately not wanting us to see her middle school play. Or the one about the last bit of milk being poured into a glass and being kept out all night, preventing Pete from having his proper tea. Or the one about daring raccoons.
It's not a loss of mojo.
It's not writer's block.
If not those, then what?
It's the confluence of forces seemingly beyond my control. The research projects I'm working on are all fighting for "righting," and so I am left barely keeping my head above water as work needs to be done at the same time laundry and school lunches and elementary school half-day conference week and vacuuming and dance classes and rehearsals and and and.
Is it any wonder I can't sleep?