In my last posts, calculus bubbles forth again and again. Half-hours snatched in the morning, working over lunch, dragging myself through sections after dance practice: I'm just over 3/4 of the way through now.
Christmas books are still sitting dusty, stacked on my shelf. I haven't read a book in three months, and I haven't read a fiction novel in over six months. Instead, starved for stories, I skim the news every day, and checking in on my RSS feed. I dart everywhere - I catch meeting by meeting, assignment by assignment, drive to dance practice and head home for dinner, before settling in for the night.
The sweetest moments come up on me, but I may only visit. The force of this wind that I've chosen lifts me, and it pulls me through. When I finally rest, when I've settled and slept, and the morning chill stiffens my bones, I'll pull on my memories. The blush will return, the tinge of what I once knew will push in my breast, building. I'll remember living.