The End is Near

 Winter, and the ghost of Covid 19 is stealing away. I'm writing this while Fort Collins is preparing for a massive snow storm and we are warned daily about the emergence of variants to this disease. Nevertheless, spring is just around the corner. I can feel it coming. 

My spirits always lift when I do what I'm supposed to do: write books. Today, I got back to work on my mystery. I have liked the basic plot from the very beginning, and was going great guns, then got side-tracked. I had an assignment from the publisher of my historical novels and put the mystery aside. That was a good move, but then I didn't get fully back to the work-in-progress, and that was a dumb move.

 The time spent during the Covid shutdown could have been a great blessing for writers. It should have been for me. But strangely enough, I found myself frittering away my days. I've always been a compulsive reader and I couldn't stop myself from reading book after book. It's my primary way of dealing with anxiety and just about anything else. Atypically, I became a binge TV watcher. 

There was this sense of all the time in the world to complete work. I worked sporadically, and not with my usual zest. My days lacked the joyful bewilderment of immersion so complete that I would lose track of time. When this immersion occurs, the real world, with all of its real problems, fades away because the process is more compelling. 

During this wasted year when I should have finished my book and begun a new one, or reorganized my house, or hand waxed all of my hardwood floors, or sewn lovely gifts for all my daughters and grandchildren, or refinished furniture, or tackled math, or learned a language, or cooked and froze meals, or worked on my saggy body, I treated the time like it was a vacation.

Still, I'm not clinically depressed and a lot of people are. I'm ready to get back to work. I've had both of my Covid shots and so have a lot of my friends. 

Between this strange sorrowful disease that came out of nowhere, and the terrifying wildness of American politics, simply surviving seemed like a worthy goal. 

I'm here. Bring the new year on.