I am back from the Great Cold North. On Wednesday I was worrying that I wasn't feeling apart enough from my regular life and would have to be dragged home kicking and screaming because I hadn't achieved the right feel, in spite of the three yoga classes I took. But everything was just fine yesterday. And, everything is still just fine, even though as soon as I got the car unloaded I had to race off to the library to pick up six Cybils books and the new memoir from an author who will be speaking in our town Thursday night. Then there was a notice waiting for me about renewing my Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators dues, and a book had come in the mail that I now need to pay for, and I need to look into doing a little promotional work for my Kids Heart Authors Day appearance. Plus, I've fallen several days behind on the 365 Story Project.
But I don't feel that bizarre sensation you get when you have too much to do and your insides are racing so hard they're trying to escape your outsides. Though it wouldn't take much to make me anxious about how to make this unnatural calm last.