I’m always surprised at how much I miss writing after taking a week away. In the past I’ve taken months away, even years, and it’s always jarring at first. Eventually you move past it and find other ways to fill the time. But it’s been such a consistent part of my life this year that coming home from work and not “getting back to work” can best be described as unusual.
Part of the reason for the time off is that I got behind schedule. Life gets in the way. I had to really scramble to get back on track and, in doing so, burnt myself out a bit. I wrote nearly 3,000 words over a three day period which is a breakneck pace for me. Dad and I both have yards to mow and the weather hasn’t always been great recently, making it hard to find the time. Our last talk was a follow-up that took place under the roof overhang while it poured down rain.
It’s also the busiest time of the year at my day job. I work in a warehouse and spend my time on my feet walking and lifting and pushing and pulling. My job is not a sedentary one. Couple that with 5am workouts and I’m dragging ass by the time I walk through the door into the glorious AC of my house. After making dinner and sitting down to eat I’m often tapped-out. Sometimes I can gut my way through it, but it just becomes too much at times, physically and mentally.
But I’m good now. We’re still crazy busy at work, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. The plan is to wrap up the process over the next ten weeks and get a solid first draft of the memoir that I can work on polishing. That takes us to around Thanksgiving, which is right where I wanted to end things. The 50’s and 60’s was a bit of a trudge, but we made it. Now we’re into the 70’s, where Dad has shown excellent recall. It’s the decade where he got his license and started working and found independence. As always, good times await!