A: Letter never sent

It feels like I could use an R.E.M. title for every post but I don't think I would.

Stuck in the mud, it seems. Every time I move an inch I'm two inches deeper.

I'm writing this post on my phone from the waiting room at the blood test clinic. I wanted to capture this moment because I so rarely post from anywhere but my desk and this sort of thing has been a key feature of last year and this.

I had a thought last night that made me feel a little guilty. The way I push this stuff out of my mind, like I'm in denial that we're even doing it, like it's not real, except during those times I'm discussing it with Mel or taking action. Like I don't want it to be real.

That's not the case, but you can't live with it on the tip of your brain forever. So I push it away to work and live and sleep and do those things that make life worthwhile (reading and writing.) How can that be wrong, why should it make me feel guilty? We have only made progress by inches and have hardly anything to show since last year. How could I possibly keep it on my mind 24/7?

What is right? Am I addicted to escape and checked out, or am I doing what comes naturally while doing my duty?

Well, I'm here, aren't I?

Meanwhile the house is a mess, there are piles and piles of laundry, clutter on the sink, schmutz on the floor, genocide in the middle east.

Like I said, stuck in mud.

We are trying.

So that's this small moment

Keep on rockin

Scotto