Woodwork is moving in tiny bursts, as I come to repeated dead stops to create jigs to perform the next task. Writing is moving in tiny bursts, as I drag myself to the keyboard once a fortnight for a half hour, 2/3 of which I permit to be taken by minor emergencies. Work is a full day ahead of deadlines than it was last week.
I am utterly failing to answer emails. I am losing contact with most of the world as I try to juggle events.
This balance and perspective thing is difficult.
But. Progress. However hard to detect.
Crossposted from Epinephrine & Sophistry