"Are you catching up with your work?" my dad asked several times when I was up there helping with rehabilitation. I got cross with him because I just want him to read what I'm doing.
He never will again, really, even though he's still alive. I don't have any interest in talking about my work with my family. I just know I have to do the work and I don't make time to spend with people anymore.
The little black cat wants to spend time with me. She's not sure why I'm up this early and so she's in the chair I put by the sit in so that she and her companion can come and say hello to me when I'm working.
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It's an hour or so later. I've decided to produce a podcast version of my newsletter. I'm not sure if anyone listens to any of this but it feels important for me to keep going. I'm not sure if any of what I do is important to anyone.
Yet I seem to do it. I'm amazed at when some force takes over me and I end up having produced something. Maybe I'm the only audience that matters. I just have to fool people into paying me.
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