Kristina came for a visit. That was a very good thing.
It seemed like once or twice a day we'd be talking and I say something about a post I was going to write. When she left I assumed I'd be writing up a storm.
I assumed I'd be writing because we'd had so many great conversations. And we'd met up with Marcia in Portland and had more great conversation. My brain was sparking. I can't really explain why I never got to the page.
Since I've been here my days have been filled with unpacking and general settling in activities. My back has knocked me down a few times. Not terribly surprising since for months I've been moving boxes around. Mostly boxes of books. I found a really wonderful chiropractor but her adjustments are somewhat different than Barbara's. It all added up and I spent so many days on an ice pack that I burned my skin. But I was reading a lot and that also usually stimulates writing.
I think there's a writing guru who says something about "butt in the chair" as a big part of writing. Maybe. But for me it's always been about words building up and repeating in my head. It's often a reaction. I often have a post written in my head long before I sit in the chair. And I did have a few. But they seem to flattened.
The nest is pretty close to settled. I've bought and been gifted a few things but most of the stuff is the same stuff I've been living with and yet it all looks new. Every book on a shelf. Every picture on the wall. I feel more and more ... at home.
I've been asking myself what I'll do when there's nothing left to unpack. It's going to be awhile before that's true.