I was SOOOO determined not to succumb to February Malaise, but durn it. I failed. I've been glumping about the house, napping every morning, ignoring chores and feeling just generally overwhelmed. I have seven books I want to illustrate, twenty paintings floating around in my head, three quilts I promised I'd finish before Christmas, and this really neat idea of being both more Pagan and more self-sufficient by throwing Preserving Parties on the High Holy Days; you know, jams and jellies on Beltane, pickles at Midsummer, mass baking on Lughnasa . . . That sort of thing. Wouldn't that just rock? But I can't seem to get on the ball, and I blame frickin' February.
Tell me I'm not alone in this quagmire. Tell me I'm not the only one counting the days 'til March, when I shall (hopefully!) make a reality of all this seething, inspiring potentiality. Fingers crossed.
Tell me I'm not alone in this quagmire. Tell me I'm not the only one counting the days 'til March, when I shall (hopefully!) make a reality of all this seething, inspiring potentiality. Fingers crossed.